


On a Sure Foundation

by chazpure



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bloodplay (of sorts), Deathly Hallows canon compliance...to a point, Frottage, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Object Penetration, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Magic, Spanking, Unauthorized Shenanigans in the Library
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 18:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18183905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chazpure/pseuds/chazpure
Summary: In Albus Severus Potter's Seventh Year at Hogwarts, he discovered something magical, something scary and exhilarating, something he isn't sure he can tell anyone else about-- oh, and that odd manuscript of Salazar Slytherin's was kind of neat, too...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheMostePotente](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMostePotente/gifts).



> This was a Merry Smutmas 2007 gift for TheMostePotente, for the final Merry Smutmas exchange.

**On a Sure Foundation**

 

_"If we would build on a sure foundation in friendship, we must love friends for their sake rather than for our own." – Charlotte Bronte_

 

Salazar stoked the fire in his chamber and set the poker to heating in the heart of the blaze. Sweat beaded his brow as he stirred the small cauldron hanging over the fire with a long iron ladle, then dipped out a steaming portion of the herb-fragrant brew and poured it into a heavy clay bowl that had been warming on the hearth.

He turned back to the man lying in his bed and frowned. 

"Godric!" he snapped, "stay with me!" He carried the bowl to the bedside and grasped the fevered man's shoulder firmly. "You must not sleep. Not yet. Not after that great clout to your head! Here. Drink!" 

Gryffindor stirred, red hair fanned out over the pale linens, face flushed red, dry and feverish. His eyes opened as he struggled for wakefulness, but they, too, were fever-bright. They fastened on Salazar's face and recognition gleamed.

"Drink," Salazar said again, more quietly. "'Tis bitter, I know, but it will bring the fever down and ease your head. I have cast a healing spell, but with a skull as thick as yours, it may take some time to mend!" His words were sharp, but the hand he slipped under Godric's head to help him drink was gentle.

Godric essayed a nod, then gulped the steaming brew. He coughed a bit at the heat and flavour, but managed to choke down a mouthful, then another, and another, until the bowl was drained.

"Good," Salazar said. "There is dittany and poppy gum and other herbs good for pain and healing. Now, you may sleep without fear. What comes next, I think neither of us will much enjoy." He drew back the bedclothes and grimaced at the livid gash across Godric's belly. The wound was purple and oozing foulness already, which spoke of more than a mundane injury. Black sorcery had been used in the battle, he knew, and although Godric had returned to the castle victorious, it would be a hollow victory indeed, if his enemy's spell had the undoing of him at last.

Salazar took fresh linen from the stack that lay ready beside the bed and poured clean water from an ewer, wetting the soft cloth. He cleaned the wound carefully, but Godric hissed in pain.

"I know, I know," he soothed. "It will hurt worse, before I am done with you," he promised wryly. "Consider it penance for stupidity," he added, under his breath.

"Penance?" Godric essayed a laugh, though it was more of a bark of pain. "Shall I...recount my sins...for you...old friend?" he asked, panting with the effort to force the words out.

"Can you remember them all?" Salazar smiled. "I am no priest, nor can I shrive you. But tell me, if it eases you." He continued working at the wound, wiping the festering matter from it until healthy flesh showed red and raw beneath his hands. He started to sigh in relief, then frowned as faint lines of black began creeping back into the wound, like the black mold that crept along lines of damp in a neglected dungeon cell. Where it touched, the flesh festered anew. He swore softly. 

"What?" Godric grunted.

"Nothing of concern to you," Salazar said. "Come, tell me this tale of sin and repentance."

"I said...nothing...of re...pentance," Godric said, trying to laugh but biting his lip at the pain it occasioned.

"Ah, a sinner unrepentant, then? No matter. Say on!" Salazar held his hands a finger's breadth above the wound and chanted almost silently, drawing the power to him. Soft light played over his fingers, and he willed it into the wound, bidding it purge the black magic from cloven flesh.

"Since...my last...confession...I have...bedded...a dozen women," Godric said, grinning against the pain. "More...perhaps. Maidens...good...wives...a harlot...or two...and once...a lusty...crone of...fourscore."

"Are you confessing or bragging?" Salazar asked dryly. "What else?" He moved back to the fire and drew his wand, casting spells of purification and healing over the iron, glowing now in the heart of the fire. He drew it forth and returned to Godric.

"I have...gambled...at dice..."

"And cheated, forget not," Salazar reminded him, gritting his teeth as he carefully held the poker over Godric's belly.

"Aye, cheated," Godric laughed again, gasping in pain. "And spent...the winnings...on strong drink. I...have stolen...cider and ale...and...good berry wine...from your...cellar stores. God's... _blood!_...do it... _now,_ Sal--"

Salazar waited no longer, but drew the poker down into the again-festering wound, searing away corruption and black sorcery with red-hot iron and powerful magic, chanting as the charmed iron retraced the line a hexed and poisoned blade had sliced into his friend's flesh.

Godric screamed in agony, clutching the bedclothes in both hands until cords stood out in his forearms and sweat beaded his fevered brow.

Salazar's hand was steady, and his voice never faltered as he carefully drew the iron along, watching coils of black and dirty green smoke writhe up where the evil was burned away.

It was mere heartbeats, or a lifetime, but at last, it was done. Godric gave a last hoarse cry and slumped back onto the bed, senseless.

Salazar paused, himself covered in sweat, and his hand trembling, now that the work was done. He noted that Godric's chest still lifted and fell with his breathing, and he saw that the wound was now the bright pink of a fresh, clean burn, rather than pustulent and festering with foul sorcery. He nodded grimly and returned the poker to its place on the hearth. 

He opened a small pot of soothing, healing ointment and spread it liberally over the seared flesh, watching the livid burn cool and heal, until it seemed as if the injury were days, if not weeks old.

He put the ointment away and took more damp linen to bathe Godric's brow.

"Rest now, my golden lion," he said softly, now that Godric could not hear him. "Proud, brave and foolish, my Gryffindor. All will be well. I am here, and none shall harm you in my care." He gently stroked back the flaming red hair and smiled ruefully. "Rest and heal, beloved."

He slipped his outer robe off, along with his soft house shoes, slid into bed beside Godric and pulled the heavy woolen blankets over them both. He lay there listening, until the steady cadence of Godric's breathing lulled him to sleep.

 

* * * * * * * 

 

Harry struggled up out of a blood-filled dream, thrashing wildly for his wand with one hand, as the other grappled with a huge serpent that melted into a rope of twisted counterpane.

He forced his fingers to relax, as he tried to slow his ragged breathing. It took a while for his eyes to track. He shakily groped for his glasses and put them on, sighing in relief as the familiar walls of his bedroom came into focus around him.

"Hm?" came sleepily from beside him.

"Dream," he said shortly.

There was a faint sympathetic sound, and a slim, fair hand patted the bedding over his thigh.

Harry smiled, a bit sadly. Ginny's reactions to his frequent nightmares had wound down over the years, much like their marriage. There was no question that they still cared for each other, still loved one another in many ways, but the passion of their first years together had worn itself out long ago. Harry sighed and got up, wrapping his favorite faded robe around him, and headed down to the kitchen for a cup of tea.

He rubbed his forehead as the leaves steeped, trying to banish the lingering remnants of his nightmare. The dreams had been bad for the first few years after the war, but eventually their frequency had diminished, and now they occurred only a few times a month. 

Still so vivid, though, he mused. It was, as always, the Shrieking Shack again, and as Snape's lifeblood poured out between them, Harry had found himself wrapped in Nagini's coils, fighting for his life. He shuddered. It didn't matter that he had seen Neville lop off the serpent's head with the sword of Gryffindor, or that he had seen the earth shake and split open, in the aftermath of the last battle, swallowing the Shack and entombing Severus Snape's last remains quite emphatically. When he dreamed, it was still all new and horribly real.

He sipped at the tea and looked up at the kitchen clock. It was five already; too early to start the day, but too late to go back to bed, really. He sighed. First day of school tomorrow, and then the trip he'd been half-dreading for years - down to the solicitors' office to sign the parchments that would formally dissolve his marriage. Well, formally acknowledge its dissolution, anyway. He wasn't sure why he'd insisted they wait until the kids were back in school. James had been off studying in Rome for six months already, and Al and Lily certainly knew what was going on; waiting until they were out of the house didn't really make much of a difference.

Harry snorted. Just another example of the Famous Harry Potter trying to cling to the vestiges of a normal family life, he thought bitterly, recalling one of Ginny's more caustic speeches.

No, that wasn't fair, he chided himself. After all, they'd had a longer run than most Muggles managed. Twenty-four years was nothing to sneeze at, and it was understandable that a couple might find their interests...diverging, especially once the children were grown. 

He rubbed his stubbled chin and drank more tea. It was all so very civilized. They'd discussed it calmly, and agreed that, as Ginny was touring with the Harpies much of the year, it made more sense for her to move out and leave the house to Harry. He'd protested, of course, that she could stay; he wouldn't mind at all, and it would be less of a transition for the children, but she had given him an arch look that melted slowly into something horribly like pity, and said quietly that she thought it would be rather inappropriate for them to continue living under the same roof, particularly once they each began seeing other people.

The words had hit him like a bludger to the gut. He'd thought at first it was jealousy, but when he'd had time to mull it over, he'd realized that it wasn't Ginny and her theoretical (he hoped) lover that bothered him, but the concept of living in a house without her, of "visitations" and "shared custody" and other horribly Muggle words that went along with "divorce." He could contemplate the idea of Ginny with someone else with perfect equanimity, but "a broken home" sank like cold, wet mud into his belly and lay there, a dead weight.

He poured another cup of tea and abandoned the kitchen in favour of his study. He lit the desk lamp with an idle wave of his hand and sank into his comfortable old chair behind the giant oak desk. He had fallen in love with the massive desk at an antique fair in Muggle Scotland, years ago, and it had been the first piece of furniture he'd brought into the house, when it was their brand new home, full of possibilities and promises.

He ran a hand over the framed photos: Ginny, in Harpies gear, holding a snitch above her head and grinning in wild triumph; James and Al, wide-eyed toddlers staring at their baby sister in her cradle; James in Gryffindor quidditch robes, looking small and solemn before his first game; Al in a rare moment of sunny pleasure, smiling in delight at something in a book almost bigger than himself; Lily, with flowers in her hair and mischief in her eyes; Hermione and Ron on their wedding day; Professor McGonagall talking with Professor Dumbledore's portrait...

His hand rested on the last photo, in its rubbed ebony frame. Professor Snape stared malevolently at him, arms folded. Colin had taken the picture some time during Snape's year as Headmaster, and when the retrospective volume of his work had been published after his death, Harry had made inquiries and managed to purchase a print of this particular shot. He couldn't explain it, but often, when he was troubled, or just needed someone to talk to, it was this framed picture of Severus Snape in which he confided. Severus didn't speak to him, of course; the magic animating wizarding photographs was not as complex as the spells woven into proper painted portraits, but he did appear to listen, and his expressions changed as if in response to whatever Harry had to say.

"I had the dream again, Professor," Harry said, almost idly. "The bad one, back in the Shack. You were there, of course, only Nagini was trying to kill me, too."

Snape appeared to sneer at him.

"I know, I know. I wish...I wish it had worked out differently. I...there must have been something I could have done." Harry sighed again and leaned back, sipping his tea. "Well, it's old news anyway. Someone once said it was the height of arrogance, talking about one's dreams. It's not like they were prophetic or even interesting, really. So. Up for some gossip?" He raised an eyebrow in inquiry. Snape rolled his eyes and shrugged.

"Well, today's the day. After we send Al and Lily off on the Express, Ginny and I are going to sign the forms. Dissolution of Marriage. So much for the traditional 'bonded for life,' huh? I ought to have argued harder for the old vows, when we were planning the wedding, I suppose."

Snape shook his head in exasperation.

"I suppose you're right. When something's over, it's over. It's been over a long time, really; it just took me a while to admit it. Ginny's a lot more pragmatic than I am. She saw it coming, I think, ever since the kids started school." 

Snape's expression was eloquent.

"Yeah, I suppose I am feeling sorry for myself. The Famous Harry Potter and all that rot. I just...was it too much to ask for a nice, normal family? A happy home? Picket fence, rambling rose, wife, kids, cats, puppies, gnomes in the garden and heading up to Hogwarts for the occasional quidditch game?" Harry sighed again. "I quit the Aurors, did I tell you? I just wanted... _normal_. Peace and quiet and a normal family life."

Snape rolled his eyes yet again and waved a dismissive hand.

"Sorry. There I go again, right? Well, I'll try to keep it down. In other news, Teddy's got a new job, over at Beauxbatons. Junior Professor of Transfigurations. We're all very proud of him..."

 

* * * * * * * * * 

 

Albus Severus grimaced as he read the letter for the third time. He'd taken it up to the Library and curled up in his favorite chair to go over it again. The letters had come - one each for him and Lily, during breakfast. They'd shot each other a glance across the Great Hall and both nodded grimly. They had been expecting this for a long time, years, really - ever since Lily had started at Hogwarts. Al had shrugged at his sister, sitting over at Ravenclaw table, and she had only rolled her eyes and tucked her letter away. 

It was just what they had all expected. Hell, even James had taken them aside the day before he left for Rome and told them that Mum and Dad might have _finally_ got up the nerve to have done with it and get on with their lives. He ought to be relieved, really. It was unnerving, going along as if everything were fine, making plans for winter hols, watching them pretend nothing was wrong, when they all knew that they just weren't _happy_ together any more. He scanned the letter again and shook his head. Mum and Dad had each written, both so careful to say how much they loved all of their children, and how this had nothing to do with anything anyone had done or not done, but sometimes, when grownups live together a long time...

He folded the letter in disgust and shoved it away. "Grownups!" What did they think he was, five? He was seventeen already, a man, according to Wizarding law, and they acted as if he were still in footie pajamas!

"Oh, there you are." The voice was unmistakable, and Al didn't even turn to look as Scorpius invaded his cosy nook.

"Congratulations, you found me. Is there a prize?" he asked sarcastically, still staring out the window.

"Tch! If I'm supposed to say you're prize enough, you've got another think coming," the slim blond said, stepping up and leaning back against the window frame.

Al had to laugh. Their parents were all still rather wary of it, but he and Scorpius had, after a vague initial unease, become close friends in First Year, despite having been sorted into different Houses. Or perhaps that was _why_ they had become friends. 

Scorpius, looking pale as death and positively terrified, had sat on the stool, cringing as Professor Sprout, now Deputy Headmistress, brought the Hat down onto his head. There had been rather a long pause, and then the Hat had opened its brim, shut it again, frowned, and finally said, "Well, then...better be...RAVENCLAW!"

The entire Great Hall had seemed to gasp at once, but Scorpius had nearly fallen off the stool, whether in shock or relief, no one seemed to know.

Al, with his father's reassurances still running through his mind, had approached the Sorting with determination. He had screwed up his courage and not protested when the Sorting Hat had laughed fondly at his name and offered him Slytherin. _D'you really think I should be in Slytherin?_ he had asked, silently. _**Oh, you'll do very well in Slytherin, I should think,**_ the Hat had replied. _**Your father would have, as well, if he'd had the nerve...**_ The Hat had trailed off, making a challenge of it, and Albus Severus Potter had thought a moment, watching his brother grinning at him from the Gryffindor table, and then said, _Well, all right then, I'll be in Slytherin._ And the Hat had opened its brim and said quite smugly, "SLYTHERIN!" 

It was something they'd had in common, from the start, and when he'd found Scorpius sitting in front of a blank parchment and chewing on his quill, something had prompted Al to ask if he was having trouble telling his parents about the Sorting. A few awkward questions, two chocolate frogs and a handful of Every Flavour Beans later, they were laughing together over what their families were going to say.

Now, six years later, they were still fast friends, no matter how uneasily their parents still regarded their friendship.

Scorpius shook white-blond hair out of his eyes and regarded Al closely. "So. Letter from home, I take it?"

Al nodded. "They've finally pulled their socks up and done it."

"Ah. Well...condolences, then, I suppose, or congratulations, depending on how you look at it."

Al snorted. "Congratulations?"

"Don't you know about divorce guilt? I'm reliably informed that newly divorced parents tend to go quite mad with trying to make it up to their poor, traumatized darlings. Elspeth Hardwicke got a ruby necklace, a full set of new potions equipment for a home lab, a trip to Paris and an Abraxan filly out of her parents' divorce. And how'd'you think Roland came up with that new Zephyr Racer 5000, last year? He's got quite a resale business in sweets, too, what with his mother sending him at least five pounds of choccies from Geneva every week."

Al laughed. "Well, I expect my parents will be a little more level-headed about it than all that, though a new potions kit wouldn't come amiss, and I'm sure Lily wouldn't object to rubies."

Scorpius grinned. "With her colouring, she ought to hold out for emeralds, or sapphires, if she's going to get House proud about it."

Al just shook his head and leaned back in the chair. "I'll let her sort that out with Dad. So, given any thought to the Runes assignment?"

Scorpius didn't blink at the change of subject. "A bit. I dug around in the Ravenclaw Papers, but I haven't found anything particularly interesting yet. Most of it's all been written up before; too many eager 'Claws looking for scholarly glory, I'm afraid. How about you?"

"I had a thought...there are some of Slytherin's original writings preserved in the House that never made it into the Library, as far as I can tell. I might ask Professor Bulstrode if she would let me look through them, or if there are copies available."

"Good thought. Not much has been written about Slytherin's research since...well, not since before the wars, I guess. Nothing more than House cant, really," he grinned ruefully at Al. "My father could tell you chapter and verse about the glories of Salazar Slytherin, and Grandfather is worse, but neither of them really cares much about Runic theory or tracing its evolution in Britain back to the Founders."

"It's worth a try, anyway." Al groaned and stretched. "Feel like a walk? And maybe a snack? I could do with tea and cakes right about now."

"Sure. After all, you're reeling in the aftermath of a traumatic experience. Clearly distraught. That ought to be good for a few treats from the House Elves."

Al laughed and got to his feet to lead the way.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Godric gently rubbed his belly over his loosely belted robe and grinned as he sat down to break his fast. "My thanks, Salazar," he said, resting one hand on Slytherin's shoulder. "It has healed well, and far faster than I dared hope."

Salazar looked up from his bowl of gruel and rolled his eyes. "Dared hope? Ever the optimist you are, Godric! You came closer to death than any of us care to contemplate, with that cursed sword cleaving your belly open!"

Helga poured honey over steaming brown bread and shook her head. "When Lothar fell last year, I thought we were done with such coils. But it seems evil and greedy wizards come up with the green barley each spring!"

Rowena, her head bent over a scroll, merely sighed. "More like toadstools, foul and loathsome, springing up from the dank places of the earth to poison all who taste of them."

They were gathered as usual, in Rowena's Great Hall, as her Keep was nearest the site of the school they meant to build. Thus far, it was little more than crude rock walls delineating the space, a rough, unfinished Keep, and an ever-increasing stack of parchment plans. Too many interruptions had slowed their progress - harsh weather, illness among the local peasantry (upon whose strong backs much of the building depended, as well as the tilling, planting and harvesting of the crops that kept them all fed), incursions of bandits, and most recently, the uprising of a self-styled "Dark Lord," (yet another wizard who had turned to blood rites and demon-summoning when diligence and study proved too onerous a path). There were times when each of them separately despaired that the school would ever rise, but somehow, they managed to bolster one another through the dark times and work together toward the goal they all yearned to achieve.

A serving wench brought hot porridge and warm, honey-sweetened milk and set them before Godric.

Salazar grinned at his expression. "No meat for you until your stomach has had more time to heal. I'll not have you undoing all my hard work with your gluttony!"

Godric looked mournfully at his food and sighed. "Well, needs must, I suppose." He picked up the bowl and slowly supped it.

Rowena looked up from the writings she was so carefully studying. "It can be done, I think, but it will require all of us, working with one mind, to one purpose. We had best practice; something of a somewhat smaller scale, perhaps?"

"We might try enlarging one of the caves, first," Helga mused. "If we can manipulate the stones there, 'twill be good practice, and there is need of more room for stores, so 'tis of good use as well. Will you have your students help, Rowena?"

The fair witch nodded thoughtfully. "Young Arden has power, but requires more discipline. As we shape the stone, I will set him to grinding the castings into pea-gravel and filling the path. Elspeth may be of more help to us, although I fear she is not ready to fully mesh her powers with ours for such exacting work."

Godric drank from his bowl of warm milk and wiped his mouth. "My men will guard the approaches, and Edgar can assist your Arden." 

Helga took a spoonful of honeyed gruel and smiled. "Lys and Ruan are far better off at their studies than under our feet, I fear. I'll set them to brewing; I believe we will all be needing a good posset before bed, once we've done this."

Salazar laughed. "Will you never give up on those two? Or had you planned to keep them as pets? Ruan has yet to summon fire without flint and tinder, and Lys can levitate nothing larger than a chicken feather, and that only if there is a good gust of wind!"

Helga bristled. "They're good, willing workers, Salazar! It's not their fault their gifts are small! I've yet to see anything useful come from a student of yours, save more black sorcery!"

It was a low blow, as Lothar had once, for a brief time, been Salazar's most prized student, before he had lost patience with the slow route to knowledge and power and turned instead to the blackest of dark arts. It had taken all of them to bring him down, and Salazar still bore a curse-scar over his heart as a memento of the battle.

He opened his mouth to retort angrily, but felt Godric's hand on his back and paused.

"Helga, that is unworthy of you," Godric rebuked her, gently. "Salazar meant no insult, only that even a witch of your great patience must see that Lys and Ruan will never hold great power. And Salazar, it may be so, but even those of small gifts may make good use of them. The teaching is not wasted, if Helga chooses to give it them."

Helga looked mollified, but still somewhat resentful. Salazar snorted and reached for his tankard of hot cider. Godric's hand rubbed soothing circles on the small of his back, and his temper eased.

Rowena looked at him mildly. "Have you chosen a new apprentice as yet, Salazar?"

The cider was rich with fragrant spices and the mellow sweetness of autumn apples. Salazar breathed the steam in deeply before answering. "Two lads have petitioned for places, but as yet I have not tested them. Bright boys, so they seem. One is the son of Mathilda Mouldwart, the herb wife of Tunny Wells; the other is the nephew of Roger FitzAlan, the alchemist.”

Helga muttered something, but Salazar ignored her. His preference for students with demonstrated magic in their lineage was well known, and he had no desire to debate his choices yet again, not when the great task of building their school still lay before them. If they were to work well together, they would have to set such differences aside for more leisurely debate.

Rowena nodded pleasantly, ignoring Helga. "Well, when you have finished, let us have horses saddled and go forth to the caves." She rose, dusting crumbs from her hands, and smoothed her jeweled girdle over her slender hips. "I will meet you in the stable yard."

Helga took a long pull of cider and pushed back from the table. "'Tis freezing in the hills. I want warmer robes than these, if we are to ride." She strode briskly from the hall.

Salazar turned to look at Godric. "By all rights, you should stay abed today, aye and for several days to come. But I know better than to ask it of you."

Godric rubbed his belly again. "I'm well enough," he asserted. "The caves are but a short ride, and Orion has a smooth and gentle gait. I'll take no harm."

Salazar sighed. "There is the working to consider, as well. You're hardly fit to cast such delicate and intense spells, Godric."

"I can do my share," Godric said, "And if it is less than I would have managed a month ago, well, it will give us a mark from which to build."

Salazar reached out, parted Godric's robe and pressed a hand gently over the bandage. "Hm. Come, let me salve it again for you and change the dressing. And when we return, you're for bed, with no arguments," he scolded.

"Aye, mother," Godric teased him. He drained the last of his gruel, grimaced and rose. 

Salazar followed him, shaking his head and wondering for the hundredth time, how he had ever come to care so much for such a stubborn, headstrong, infuriating man.

 

* * * * * * 

_He dreamed...or dreamt of dreaming. There was neither time nor space, nor anything but endless grey, stretching out before him, behind him, above and below him. His thoughts were wrapped in it, muffled and stilled, until even his sense of_ self _was damped and slowed._

_He could not tell when he dreamt or when he only thought he dreamt, and his dreams were blurred, as if the parchment had been washed and the ink let run. One image faded into another, and all were lost in timelessness._

_A flash of green caught his attention, and he dreamt Lily spoke to him...only Lily's hair was dark and shorter...and her eyes behind Potter's glasses were sad and regretful..._

 

* * * * * * *


	2. Chapter 2

They had met years ago, at the Battle of Ethandun, both of them young and eager to prove themselves in the service of their respective masters. Fortunately, they had been on the same side of the fighting, casting curses and guarding spells to protect their masters as they fought the Wizard Halvard and his dragons. A great explosion - a spell gone wrong, some said, while others claimed it had been concentrated dragon-fire - had ripped the earth apart before them, immolating men, beasts and equipment, and blasting others far away from the battlefield.

Salazar had come back to consciousness lying on rocky ground, with his head pillowed on Godric's lap. Gryffindor worried his lip and bathed Salazar's brow with a potion meant for restoring strength, until Salazar managed to raise a hand and indicate his mouth, trying to make it clear the potion was to be drunk, not rubbed on the skin.

They had been thrown far behind the enemy's lines, and there was scant hope that any of their own people would come seeking them. Salazar's head still swam and his guts roiled from the pain, and there had been only a few flasks of healing and strengthening potions between them. They dared use only the smallest magics, lest they be discovered, but Godric's battle magics were strong, and as Salazar would later learn, in dueling whether with wand or sword, he had no peer, even then. He had stood guard through the nights, slaying all manner of fell, magic-born beasts that came hunting them, and cared for Salazar until he was able to rise and care for himself. 

Soon, it had seemed natural, as they were alone, in a distant, cold and inhospitable land, that they should huddle together beneath their scorched and filthy cloaks and share the warmth of their bodies through the bitter nights. And when Salazar woke, in the hours before pale dawn, to find Godric panting and trembling beside him, nothing could have been more natural than to reach over his friend's hip, wrap his own hand around Godric's fist and feel the blood coursing through his hardened member. Their hands had moved together, fingers interlaced, and Salazar had felt his own blood racing as he rubbed his thumb over the head of Godric's staff, swirling the welling fluids there in mystic patterns. When Godric had tensed and gasped, and blood-warm liquid had flooded over their twined fingers, Salazar had groaned and thrust his hips against Godric's warm, solid bulk and pulsed out his own completion as well.

They had said nothing of it in the daylight hours, confining the subjects of their discourse to the battle, magical theories, tales and jests, and always, to plans for finding their way back to their own masters.

But as the pale sun had set each evening, they had returned to their shared pallet of pine boughs covered with the pelts of the beasts Godric had slain, and again huddled together. They had taken to holding each other and learning what touches brought gasps of surprise and delight, how to touch and tease and heat the blood, until they were both panting and groaning and thrusting hot, slick flesh against flesh - and then biting back shouts and spilling their seed between them.

Eventually, they had decided upon a plan and had made their way back to safety, leaving a grisly trail of slain beasts and magic-made servants behind them. Godric had lost a sword he had been fond of, and they each bore several new scars, but they were otherwise whole and unharmed, and their masters had rejoiced to see them return.

 

* * * * * * * 

 

"The kids are taking it fairly well, I think," Harry told Severus's photo. "Lily sent long, well-written letters to both of us, saying that she didn't want us to feel guilty, because, after all, people _do_ change over twenty years or more, and it's perfectly natural to want different things when you're in your forties than you did in your twenties." He grinned wryly as Severus rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know, you didn't make it to your forties. Sorry. Anyway, Lily closed with a rather subtle hint that if we felt the need to work out our guilt through gifts, she could do with a new telescope and a new racing broom. Sometimes I think the wrong kid got sorted into Slytherin." He laughed a bit.

Severus's image gave a slight smile and looked expectantly at him.

"Al sent one letter to both of us, which pretty much just said he thought it was about time we'd made up our minds, and he hoped we weren't going to indulge in too much drama over the whole thing. Pragmatic boy, your namesake," he noted.

Severus arched an eyebrow. 

"I wanted to name him Severus Albus, you know, if only because it sounds better, but Ginny wouldn't have it." Harry shrugged. "You'd like him, I think. He must be a lot more like my mother than I ever was. All I got were her eyes. He's got the studious habits and the quiet courage. The ambition's mine, I suppose. You never said whether mum was terribly ambitious, but I suppose if she was, it wasn't strong enough to get her into Slytherin." Harry ran a finger around Severus's frame. "I'm sorry that things didn't work out better for the two of you. It just seems like you never got a fair break, did you?"

Severus spread his hands and shrugged. 

"Yeah, and now you're here in a photograph, listening to me babble on and on and on. Anyway, enough of that - more gossip! Ginny's moved out, as you know. She's got a nice flat near team headquarters, and I think she's going out with their star keeper. Very nice girl, although a little scary. Gin says they're just spending some time together, and nothing's serious yet, but I don't know. It seems pretty serious to me, the way Marga looks at her."

"Oh, James finally wrote, too. Completely ignored the divorce news, except to ask whether he should plan on staying here or at Mum's flat when he comes home over winter hols. As you may have noticed, my children are all terribly upset by their broken home," Harry said, quirking his mouth. "Did I tell you that Millicent Bulstrode is Head of Slytherin House now?"

Severus looked gratifyingly surprised. 

"It's her first year as House Head, but after she taught the upper level potions classes for the past few years, none of the kids would dare to give her any backtalk. Al says she's much better than old Delphelas, who finally retired. Al says she's not exactly a comforting presence, but she looks out for them all and makes sure they toe the line. Can you just imagine? Bulstrode, of all people!" Harry smiled and yawned. "It's getting late. I've got an early start tomorrow; I should turn in. Good night, Severus," he said fondly, patting the frame gently. He doused the lights and headed for bed.

It was odd, he thought, how much comfort he found in talking to a framed photograph that couldn't even talk back to him. A time or two, he had considered commissioning a wizarding portrait of Severus for his study, but he'd always put the idea aside, as if giving into it would be verging from eccentricity over into obsession.

He stretched out in bed, relishing the smooth sheets against his skin and the warm comfort of his thick featherbed. In moments, he was fast asleep.

_He was back in the Shrieking Shack, only this time Severus had fallen to the floor, clutching his neck, and Harry was struggling with Nagini, trying desperately to hold her off. He cursed her in Parseltongue, but she laughed at him, a horrid sound, and coiled back, preparing to strike. As she darted forward, he threw himself to one side and came up with a wand; he wasn't sure whose._ AVADA KEDAVRA! _he shouted, and a blaze of green light leapt from the wand to strike the serpent, even as she was turning back to strike at him again. She lunged, but was dead before she hit the floor with a heavy, dull thud._

_Harry dropped to his knees, panting and shaking with reaction, and then he saw Severus, still trying to staunch the flow of blood from his neck. Harry hurried to his side and pulled Severus into his arms, gently pulling his fingers away from the gory wound. He murmured a spell - not certain what it was, only that it was **right** , and saw the blood slow, then stop, and the gaping flesh smooth over, healing before his eyes._

_"Look at me," Severus gasped, and Harry bent down, looking him full in the eyes, and kissed him._

 

* * * * * * * * * 

In the years that had followed, they had seen little of one another, but they had written to each other often, all through their years of study and as each came into his full power. Their letters were full of warmth and comradeship, as befitting two warrior-mages who had fought side-by-side and come through such battles as they had known. Salazar had told himself that whatever else they had shared had been only a thing born of necessity and youth. A boy spilled his seed at the barest brush of a passing breeze, and they had been little more than boys, he recalled. And battle heightened a man's responses, as any man who had ever fought could attest. Blood heated and rushed everywhere, even to the blind snake that stirred between a man's legs. A man who survived a battle sought the first warm wench available and made haste to spill his seed, lest he have no opportunity to do so ever again. And if there were no wenches to be had...well, there were alternatives, as he and Godric had proved. That, surely, was all it had been, and well enough for that.

A conclave had been announced, many years later, and all wizards and witches interested in learning what their brethren had discovered, or in demonstrating their own achievements, had come to Caer Peris, for a week's gathering. The common folk had thronged to the place as well for a great harvest and trading faire, and the old city had been filled to bursting with people. As Salazar had brought his winged horse in over the stable yard of the castle, there had scarcely been room for him to touch down. He had handed the reins to a wizened little creature and headed into the Keep, where he had joined the press of magical folk, all chattering and waving hands in excitement at the events to come.

And then he had seen Godric. From across the crowded hall, filled with so many people a man could scarcely breathe, he had looked up and seen the broad shoulders, the red-gold mane, now matched by a flowing beard, and the warmly glowing green-flecked eyes. As lodestone drew iron, he had found himself drawn across the room, until he stood before Godric, and his mouth had opened and foolishness had spilled out.

"I had not thought to see you, ever again," he had said.

Godric had smiled and wrapped long arms about him. "Ever is a very long time, my dear old friend," he had said, crushing Salazar against him. 

And Salazar had been lost.

 

* * * * * * 

"Scorpius, look at this," Al said, trying to get his friend's attention. Scorpius was deeply intent on an early manuscript on runic healing, attributed to Salazar Slytherin, from the Slytherin House collection. 

Professor Bulstrode had been more than happy to grant access to the rare documents, which had been locked away in the Slytherin dungeons time out of mind. She said it was high time someone had researched the work of Salazar Slytherin, and she was proud he had chosen to do so. She did cast protective and tracking spells over the documents before handing them over, however, and smiled sweetly when she informed Al that if the documents were damaged or misplaced, his testicles would rot and drop off. He had practically felt the organs in question shriveling between his legs and took her at her word. He had been _exceptionally_ careful of the documents in question!

"Mm?" Scorpius didn't look up.

"Oy! Look here!" Al insisted. "See this? There's some sort of runic code running through this treatise. Look - you see the illuminations here, and here?"

Scorpius swung his legs down from the arm of the chair and bent over the document Al was reading. "Hm. Have you charted them out, yet?"

"No. I think we'd better do it together; you read off and I'll chart," Al said, spreading a fresh sheet of parchment out on the table between them.

It took them quite a while, as it was a lengthy scroll, but finally they had all of the runic references plotted out and annotated. Scorpius looked over Al's shoulder at the chart and frowned. "If I'm reading that right...he's referring to a chamber somewhere down around the foundations of the castle."

"The Chamber of Secrets?" Al asked.

"No...look, see this? This indicates that the other Founders must have been involved in building it, or at least all made use of it. Something about a...temple, maybe? A place of ritual...being bound to the school and the school to them..." Scorpius's voice trailed off.

"I've never heard of anything like that, and I _have_ read _Hogwarts, A History!_ Do you suppose we could find it?" 

Scorpius shrugged. "If it's still there, I don't see why not. There aren't many indications here, but if we head down the central stairs and keep going down, we ought to find _some_ indications."

"Are you game?" Al asked, grinning.

Scorpius regarded their chart for a moment. "It would be something no other students have done in centuries, I'm sure. We'd definitely get extra points; we _might_ even get published!"

Al laughed. "Aunt Hermione will be so proud," he joked, "and Lily will be perfectly green with envy. So, when shall we start?"

"Saturday morning? I'll finish my Transfig assignment tomorrow, and if you can get your Potions lab work done Friday, we should have the weekend free."

"Suits. I think I have something in my trunk that might help, too." 

 

* * * * * * * * 

 

The work at the caves went well enough, and Salazar was pleased to see that Godric held up under the strain, though he meekly nodded and took to his bed upon their return, clearly glad of the opportunity to rest.

Over the next few weeks, they carved out the mountain beneath their chosen site, sculpting chambers and passages, forming the rock into stronger stuff, magically embued with power to hold up the weight of a great castle and sustain it for years, centuries to come. Salazar took the two boys as apprentices and was pleased with their progress, and soon all four powerful mages and their students had formed a strong working team, each contributing according to their skills and powers.

And the castle rose before them. The peasants dressed stone and worked wood and hauled raw materials back and forth from village and croft to the castle grounds, but Godric and Rowena and Helga and Salazar wove their magic together and commanded stones to stack and bind, to arch and flow as needed. The outer walls grew higher and stronger; the main Keep sprouted towers on its corners, and the foundations leapt up to embrace the stone footings, anchoring the entire structure securely to the heart of the earth.

Now that Godric's strength had fully returned, he spent his power heedlessly, transfiguring stone and wood into the inner structures of the castle, shaping chambers for study and training and sleeping, and pouring extra magic into it all, hoping, as he confided to Salazar, that the castle would become almost a living thing, sensitive to the needs and wants of its masters.

Rowena smiled at their ceaseless debates over the interior floor plans, then stepped into the center of the castle one morning and cast a spell none of them had ever seen before. The stones had all trembled, and then one great staircase had swung free of the wall and pivoted, shifting its landing from the north to the west side of the Keep. They stared at her, gaping like country fools, then Helga had laughed and the rest joined in. It was a compromise, but one they could all accept.

Helga had conferred with the centaur tribe from the forest that bordered the east side of their land and came to an agreement with them regarding access and hunting, and then she had whispered to the trees and they had slowly crept backwards, leaving a broad swath of land clear down to the lake shore. 

Salazar spent days opening passages from the castle itself down into the chambers they had sculpted in the stone mountain beneath it and expanding those chambers and passages into more useful spaces. Always a cautious man, he extended tunnels here and there, providing ways for those who knew of them to move secretly within the castle, as well as in and out of it. 

In the midst of their labours, Godric announced he had received a challenge and must go forth to answer it. Salazar fretted for three days, then heaved a sigh of relief on the fourth, when Godric came riding back through the great gate they had erected across the road into the bailey. His relief was short-lived, however, as Godric's face was pale and drawn, and he stumbled slightly when dismounting.

It was fever. A tiny, festered wound showed on Godric's upper arm; a bite from some noxious insect or serpent, Salazar hazarded, no doubt a little parting gift from Godric's challenger.

"You left him dead, I hope," he said bitterly, as he lanced the swelling.

Godric nodded wearily. "He was a fool, and too dangerous a fool to leave behind me," he said. 

Salazar gave him a cup of bitter herb-wine. "It should bring down the fever." He went out to his warming chamber and opened the rush basket where his latest pet, an emerald charm-tongue, lay coiled in sleep. _"Awake, my lovely,"_ he called gently to her in the language of serpents.

_"Sleepy!_ she protested, but her brilliant green tongue flickered out and she slowly raised her jeweled head. _"Food?"_ she asked, hopefully.

_"In due course, my pet. For now, I have need of your aid,"_ he told her, taking her heavy length in to his arms and carrying her into the bedroom.

Godric was pale and sweating, but his ruddy eyebrows arched in surprise at Salazar's pet. "Lie still," Salazar told him. "She'll not harm you. Her gift is to counter venoms of all types," he said. _"This one sickens from a bite, my lovely one. Take the poison from him, gently."_

The snake, gleaming with markings of emerald green, deep crimson and jet black, flowed out of his arms and onto the bed, sliding over Godric's arm, her tongue tasting the air as she went. Unerringly, she sought the lanced wound at his shoulder and nudged it with her blunt nose.

"Still, now," Salazar cautioned him. "She is going to bite you, but it is necessary."

He had no sooner finished speaking than the snake struck, blindingly fast, and drove her short fangs into Godric's arm, around the small welt. He hissed, but held still, eyes wide as he watched. She sucked at him, the pain intense but brief, then released her hold and looked to her master for approval. Salazar held out his arm and she slithered back to him, wrapping herself around his wrist and submitting to his gentle caresses.

Godric watched in amazement. "It is truly a rare gift you have with serpents, Salazar," he said, wonderingly. "Thank your bright lady for me, if you will. I will gladly fetch her a plump rat, or a young coney, if such is to her taste, as soon as I am allowed out of this bed."

Salazar smiled as he petted the snake, and nodded to Godric. "I will convey your offer," he said, then slipped back into the sibilant tongue to speak to her. _"Well done, lovely one,"_ he hissed, _"my nest-mate is very grateful, as am I. He offers you the gift of a fine rat or tender rabbit, once he is well enough to hunt again."_

He laughed as her eyes sparkled with greed, her former sleepiness forgotten. "She says she has not had a coney in far too long, as I cruelly keep her locked away here, far from rabbit warrens. I think she likes you, love." He bit his lip as the endearment slipped out, but Godric did not remark on it.

"A fine rabbit it shall be, then, tender and plump, even if I have to steal one from Rowena's falcons!" Godric felt his arm, then his forehead and smiled. "The swelling is gone, and already I feel the fever diminishing. My thanks, indeed, love," he said, and his eyes were warm.

Salazar felt his guts twist, not unpleasantly, and hastily returned the snake to her basket. When he came back to the bedroom, Godric had stripped off his robe and lay back against the fine linen sheets, holding out his arms.

"Come here, love, and comfort me," he said, smiling.

"You're well enough to need no comforting," Salazar said wryly, but he shed his own robe and slipped into the bed. 

"Then come to my arms and _be_ comforted," Godric said softly, wrapping his long arms around Salazar's thin form and pulling him close. "Why do you fear to love me, Salazar?" he asked quietly, his broad hands gently stroking, caressing skin already anxious for their touch. "Do you doubt me so much, after all these years?"

"I...when we were young, it was...only battle-fever, so I believed," Salazar admitted, sighing and resting his head on Godric's broad chest. "And when we came together again, so many years ago, I thought only that it was...a diversion for you. I knew you had women, before and since, and I forbore to place more importance on what was between us."

"My subtle serpent," Godric said, kissing him and collecting his stirring rod into one big hand, "you ponder too much and too deeply."

"Do I?" Salazar asked. He pulled back to look at Godric, though the hand caressing his manhood was hard to ignore. "You have never cared to speak of such things, before."

"No," Godric agreed, "and perhaps I would not have, now, but that I saw your face when I returned today, and again when you called me 'love,' just now, and I thought perhaps it was time and more than time for such words to be spoken freely between us." He tightened his grasp on Salazar's shaft and stroked it firmly. "Not just words for the bedroom," he said quietly, "or for the still, dark hours of the night, but for all hours of the day, and all days of the year." He shifted, pressing Salazar back into the bed and straddling him, continuing to stroke him at an even, steady pace.

Salazar swallowed and then groaned, tossing his head back as Godric bent to lick the base of his throat and gently nip at the soft skin there. His loins ached with need, but Godric would not be hurried.

His left hand splayed on Salazar's chest, then slowly drew down, tracing his ribs and belly, sliding over his hip to cup his buttocks and squeeze them, while his right hand continued its slow pace, up and down, up and down, up and down on Salazar's shaft, until he thought he would go mad.

Godric slipped a finger between his nether cheeks and murmured a phrase they both knew well. Salazar groaned again as he felt himself loosened and filled with slickness. He thrust his hips up, trying to drive the pace faster, but instead, Godric slowed until his hand merely circled the root of Salazar's rod and pressed firmly against his sac.

"I love you, Slytherin," Godric breathed into his ear, as he felt his legs pushed up and back and the hot, broad head of Godric's hard shaft pressed beneath his bollocks and slid down the cleft of his buttocks, then wedged into his anus. "Not just when I am in your bed, or you in mine, but always."

Salazar snarled and thrust his hips forward, capturing Godric's staff in one swift motion and burying it deep. He groaned again, and gripped Godric's corded forearms hard. Godric pressed in, as far as he could, then paused. 

"Move, idiot!" Salazar snapped. "Sing me your psalms later, if you must, but now _MOVE!_ "

Godric chuckled and began to thrust, as he resumed stroking and matched the rhythm of hand to hips. Salazar threw his head back and let his body fit the tempo, let his mind drift and gave himself over wholly to sensation.

Sweat beaded them. The chamber was filled with the harsh, ragged sound of their breathing, and the wet, rhythmic sounds of their coupling, the slick slap of flesh on flesh and the squelch of fluids that ran from them as they moved together. Salazar's world narrowed down to the weight of Godric between his thighs, the fullness of his manhood filling him over and over, and the firm grip of Godric's hand on his hard, aching member. 

Godric rubbed his thumb over the tender head of Salazar's shaft, then sped his hand on it and thrust his hips faster and harder. The tempo faltered, and Godric was slamming into him wildly, sweat flying from his sodden hair and a babble of words spilling from his lips. Salazar arched up, wrapped his legs around Godric's thighs and pulled them together with all his strength, biting down on Godric's good shoulder as he did.

Godric let out a great shout and his body shook as he spent himself. Salazar felt Godric's hand spasm on his own rod, snapped his hips upward, hard, and spent himself all over Godric's belly and his own. They clung together for countless moments, hearts racing and eyes seeing nothing, until at last Salazar eased his mouth and gently kissed the great welt he had raised on Godric's shoulder, then dropped bonelessly back on to the bed.

With a long, ragged sigh, Godric slipped free and slowly unwrapped his fingers, then slumped to the bed beside Salazar. Salazar wet his lips and reached for his wand. "Abstersi," he muttered, and the tingle of magic cleansed them both of sweat and other fluids.

Godric reached out and brushed long black hair from Salazar's face. "It is still true, Salazar. I love you. I have for many a year. And I give you my word, it is safe for you to love me, if you so choose."

Salazar sighed, then half-turned toward Godric. "You think, because I have schooled myself against saying it, that I do not love you? You say, 'Love me! It is safe!' and yet you run off to duel any fool who challenges. You head into battle without a thought for those you leave behind - and you reach for your sword when your wand would do better! How can it be 'safe' to love you, Godric? Shall I tell you daily how much I care? How my heart burns at your glance? How I can neither sleep nor eat when you put yourself at risk for such foolishness? Shall I love openly, that I may be properly pitied by all, the day you are borne home on a litter, for me to put you on your pyre?"

"Salazar--"

"No! Do not try to assure me, Godric. I know you, and I know myself. You have my love; you are a fool if you have not known it all these years. But leave me my protections and my devises; one day, they may be all that are left me." He sighed. "Enough of such talk. For now, let us rest."

Godric echoed his sigh and gathered him close. "I would ease your worries, if I could," he said quietly. 

"I know," Salazar mumbled, as he drifted off to sleep. "Love you, foolish lion."

"And I you, my serpent."

 

* * * * * 

 

_He stirred, still deep in dreams, or in what passed for dreams, in this existence where time and space both seemed vague and formless._

_He dreamed of earnest green eyes and of regret, and of small confidences and great loneliness. He wondered why Lily's eyes looked out at him from a man's face, and then he remembered the boy, Dumbledore's sacrificial lamb. He wondered if he would dream the boy's death, or if Lily's sad green eyes would merely reproach him forever, but instead, the eyes smiled at him, and he dreamt of children's laughter and a smiling red-haired girl who was not Lily, and of Lily's eyes in Harry's face._

_Harry...but Harry was dead, wasn't he? He wanted to apologize to Lily for what they had done to her son, but her eyes regarded him compassionately from Harry's face, and it was Harry's voice that apologized and said he wished things could have been different._

_He drifted in and out of dreams...but Harry's eyes and Harry's voice were an anchor and kept him safely tethered, so he never quite lost himself._

 

* * * * * * *


	3. Chapter 3

The problem had gnawed at him, in every idle moment, and more so whenever Godric placed himself in harm's way. Salazar was not a man to give fickle Fate her way without a fight, and so he searched and studied and strove, until at last a plan gained shape. It was not perfection, but it would, perhaps, give him at least a measure of peace. 

"Godric, I have an idea," Salazar told him one morning. "We have woven all manner of protections into the foundations and fabric of this place, making it as safe a fastness as wit and power can devise. I believe I have a way to harness that protection for those of us bound to the school."

"Oh? And what form would this protection take?" Godric asked.

"There is a rite we must perform, that will link us to this place, so that the castle knows we are its own, and then I will shape amulets for each of us that will draw us home again at will, whenever there should be need."

Godric raised his eyebrows. "That is an ambitious undertaking," he said mildly. "Have you discussed this with Rowena?"

"No...no, I would rather make the attempt alone...or just the two of us, at first, lest it should fail. Should it succeed, I will give Rowena and Helga their own amulets and the necessary rituals, and they may try it for themselves."

Godric eyed him speculatively. "You would not object to my presence, then?"

Salazar feigned reluctance. "Well...no. Your help would be welcome," he admitted.

"When shall we essay this ritual, then?" 

"The summer solstice approaches; a good time for such things, by arithmantic reckoning. My preparations should be ready by then."

Godric nodded. "Very well. Tell me how to aid you, and so I shall."

Salazar held his wand before him as he led the way down into the bowels of the castle, its glowing tip illuminating the magic-hewn rock walls and glinting off bits of crystal here and there.

They came at last to a small chamber, directly below the center of the castle, ringed with great stone pillars. Salazar set torches flaming about them and nodded to Godric, who placed the basket he carried beside the massive stone altar in the center of the chamber. Salazar added the heavy linen sack he bore, and rummaged in it for the necessary items.

He cleansed the stone and smudged it with fragrant herbs, all gathered from the castle grounds. He broke open a vial of pure almond oil and drew runes atop the altar, then sprinkled salt and herbs on the ground all around it. When he had finished, he stripped off his robes and stood before Godric in a thin linen tunic. "Disrobe," he instructed, and took a wineskin from the sack. 

Godric removed belt, boots, robe, and as Salazar nodded, his inner tunic as well, until he stood nude in the chamber. Salazar poured wine into his cupped palm and sluiced it over Godric's body, over and over until he had rinsed every part of him. He set the wine aside and took oil to mark Godric's body with protective runes from head to toe, chanting softly under his breath as he wove the magic about him.

Godric stood solemnly still, feeling the net of power Salazar wrapped about him, until at last Salazar stepped back and removed his own tunic. Godric took up the wineskin without instruction and bathed Salazar as he had done, then traced runes on his skin as Salazar continued to chant. 

The power in the chamber seemed to shimmer and hum as they worked, faint gold and silver lines flickering between the stone pillars and slipping along the floor like darting snakes. Salazar set the basket and sack far to one side and took up his favorite knife, a short blade with a silver-wrapped black horn handle. He knelt just outside the circle of salt and herbs and scribed a small circle in the stone floor, no larger than the end of his thumb, just inside the ring of herbs. He moved about the altar until he had scribed a circle at each of the cardinal points, then rose again and gestured to Godric.

"Lie down upon the altar," he said. Godric hesitated, studying him, then stepped over the ring and stretched himself out on the stone. Salazar moved to stand at the foot of the altar and set the tip of his knife to his own chest, pressing just hard enough to pierce the skin. He retraced the runes Godric had marked there in oil - Algiz, for protection; Kenaz, for power and knowledge; Uruz, for strength and understanding, for desire and potency; Raidho for travel; Ingwaz for the home; Gebo for gifts and giving, balance and partnership in all things. The bright blood-runes glowed with power when he was done, and he knelt on the altar between Godric's ankles and leaned forward to mark Godric in the same fashion.

As his knife bit, he looked deep into Godric's searching green eyes and felt the press of Godric's thoughts, battering at his consciousness. He traced the rune for protection and felt the power wrap around them both, the very warmth and comfort of a mother's arms. 

He drew Kenaz and felt his mind pierce the thin barrier between them, and Godric's thoughts and emotions were laid bare to him - a touch of anxiety, sensations of pain and cold, both overcome by the thrill of power surrounding them, curiosity for the ritual Salazar had devised, and beneath it all, a broad and solid footing for everything else, love. Simple, unasked, uncomplicated love. Salazar's heart pounded and he nearly lost the spells in the surge of relief and exultation that filled him.

He stilled his trembling hand and traced the rune Uruz. The power enveloping them flared and sizzled, coiled about his loins and left him rampant. Godric's eyes glowed, and Salazar felt his arousal pressing up into his belly as he leaned down to trace the next runes. 

Raidho for travel, and Ingwaz to bring them always safely home, and finally Gebo, that their partnership be that of equals, giving and gifted, balanced in all things.

He placed the blade down on the altar and pressed one hand on his own chest, one on Godric's then held his arms up and chanted again. Power pooled in his bloody palms, and he leaned forward and marked Godric's wrists with their mingled blood, then stretched back and marked his own ankles in the same way.

"By our blood are we bound. To this place and each other, now and always," he intoned, and the power lanced along the blood markings, leaving thin scarlet cords binding Godric's outstretched arms to the altar, and tethering Salazar's ankles to its opposite corners.

His loins were hot and full, aching for touch. He stretched himself out atop Godric's long, broad form and kissed him deeply. Godric could not move his hands, but his legs drew up, cradling Salazar between them as his lips opened and his tongue sought Salazar's. They kissed for an eternity, tongues sliding over one another's, teeth nipping and teasing, lips opening wide and pressing tightly together. 

Salazar frotted his swollen shaft against Godric's, groaning at the delicious slick friction, sensitive flesh sliding against equally sensitive flesh. They rocked together, bathed in blood, oil and sweat, as the power swirled around them, driving their passion ever higher.

Godric let out a great cry and clenched his fists, then thrust his hips up against Salazar. "Yes! Let us--be joined," he gasped. "Salazar!"

He could spare no effort for their spell of convenience, not with so much power to channel and guide. Instead, Salazar wrapped his hands around Godric's hips and pulled him down as far as the bonds would permit, gathered the welling fluid from their ready cocks and pressed his slick fingers into the cleft of Godric's buttocks. As he breached him, Godric pressed forward, driving Salazar's fingers deep within. Salazar slid his fingers in and out, making Godric writhe in desperation as the runes carved into their skin glowed brighter. At last, his own arousal could bear the delay no longer, and he judged Godric more than ready. He withdrew his fingers, set his organ to Godric's opening, and pierced through in one powerful thrust. 

Godric gave a mighty shout, and Salazar scarcely had time to wrap his hand around Godric's shaft before it jerked and began issuing forth his seed in great gouts, splashing them both and spattering on the altar, where it fairly sizzled with the energy they had raised. Salazar continued to stroke as he thrust home, over and over again, milking the seed from Godric and chanting spells of binding, of protection, of union and safe harbour. Godric was nearly senseless, still gasping out his completion, but Salazar drove his shaft in again and again, feeling the magic coiling about them, building higher and higher still. The power crested above them and seemed to pause, and Salazar felt his bollocks drew up, aching tight. He sheathed himself once more, cried out, and spent himself within his beloved Gryffindor.

The power about them flared, then flashed blindingly white, and burst in a dazzling shower of stars.

 

* * * * * * 

 

Saturday morning dawned bright and crisp. Al met Scorpius at the door of the Great Hall, right after breakfast, holding an old, folded parchment. 

"Ready?"

"If you are," Scorpius said. "What is that?"

"A bit of extra help," Al explained, unfolding it. He touched his wand to the parchment and intoned, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good!"

As words and diagrams appeared on the parchment, Scorpius watched in admiration. "So, this is the infamous Marauders' Map?" he asked.

"None other," Al agreed. "Dad gave it to James, his first year, then ordered James to give it to me my first year. I had to give it back to James the following year, then Lily had it for her first year, and I got it back fourth year. We've alternated as Keeper of the Map every year since, although it's a family rule that the map can be borrowed from the Keeper for good and sufficient reason, and fee, of course," he explained, grinning. 

"Of course. So, has your map any indication of where we should start?"

They studied the map carefully, unfolding it to show the lowest levels of Hogwarts castle, but there was no indication of a Ritual Chamber or anything that might once have been used as one. "It doesn't go deep enough," Al sighed. "See, here's the Slytherin storage room, on the lowest level. That's not anywhere near the foundations, and certainly not as deep as the Chamber of Secrets."

"Hm." Scorpius traced a faint line along the indicated storage chamber, then peered closer. "What's this? 'Psg to ?'"

Al looked at the notation. "Maybe a passageway they couldn't get into? Or one they only suspected was there?"

"Perhaps...it might be worth a look, don't you think?" Scorpius smiled at him, and Al felt an odd little flutter in his belly. Must be the excitement - just like a treasure hunt, he told himself.

"Sure! We've got to start somewhere," he answered. 

They headed down to the dungeons, past classrooms and cellars, past Professor Bulstrode's office and the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room, and down a narrow, winding staircase that led to the storage room noted on the map.

It was an old, cluttered room, filled with rolled-up green carpets and tapestries, dusty landscape paintings, crates of old textbooks, and all manner of oddments that Slytherins had stored away over the years. 

They oriented themselves on the map and had to shift a heavy press filled with green velvet bed curtains, and finally found themselves staring blankly at a stone wall, just like any other stone wall down in the dungeons.

"Well, if the map's right, it should be right here. Does it say anything else?" Scorpius asked. 

Al studied the map, but no further information was forthcoming. "The Marauders must not have been able to open the passage," he said, "or they only guessed it was here."

"That doesn't make sense," Scorpius argued. "I didn't see any other 'maybe' passages marked. They must have known it was here, but couldn't get through it."

Al ran his hands over the wall and drew back in sudden surprise. "There's something here," he said, "It's very faint...must be centuries old, and almost worn away." He drew his wand. _"Lumos,"_ he said, and held his wand off to one side, tilting his head to see the markings. "It's...snakes," he announced. "Twined snakes, in a circle."

"Sounds promising," Scorpius said encouragingly. "So, what now?"

Al bit his lip and looked sheepishly at Scorpius. "Should I try?"

Scorpius sighed. "How many times am I going to have to tell you that I do _not_ find it 'creepy' or 'evil' or even 'weird' that you're a Parselmouth? Your father's one, you know. It's not unheard of for it to run in families."

"I don't like using it," Al grumbled. "People stare enough when they hear my name, let alone if I start hissing at snakes!"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! Do you want to open this passage or not? If it's guarded by a carving of snakes, that's a pretty encouraging sign, wouldn't you say? Slytherin storage room, Slytherin symbol, Slytherin secret passage, maybe?"

"All right, all right!" Al sighed and focused on the faintly scribed snakes twined in their eternal circle. "Open up," he said, only vaguely aware that it came out of his mouth in a series of hisses.

He heard a deep rumble in the stone and a heavy, grating sound. 

Scorpius nodded approvingly. "Well done," he said, as the wall slid back, revealing a black passage beyond.

They held their wands before them, dispelling a little of the inky darkness with warmly glowing light, and headed down the passage. There were stairs leading downward, and then a long, sloping section that took them farther down in a spiral, toward the unknown depths of Hogwarts' foundations.

Al felt his hands shaking as they went deeper and deeper beneath the castle, and was grateful that Scorpius either didn't notice or refrained from remarking on it. He stumbled briefly, and when Scorpius caught his arm, he noticed that the Ravenclaw was clammy with sweat and a bit trembly as well. On impulse he slid his free hand down and grasped Scorpius's. "Thanks," he said.

"Sure." Scorpius managed to sound unconcerned, but his fingers laced tightly with Al's and neither of them seemed inclined to let go.

They didn't know how far they had gone, but suddenly the passage opened up and gave into a small chamber that echoed before them. Scorpius held his wand higher and pointed it this way and that, illuminating a ring of stone pillars surrounding a small open chamber with a large stone altar at its center.

"Wow," Al said reverently. "I think we found it!"

"There are torch rings up there," Scorpius said, peering through the darkness. _"LUMOS!"_ he called, and suddenly the chamber was bathed in torchlight.

"Scorpius, look!" Al called. He had gone forward to examine the altar. Its ancient surface was closely carved with runes and symbols Al could not readily identify, and the stone floor surrounding it held more runes, as well as four small, faintly glowing circles, one at each of the cardinal points.

"Wicked," Scorpius breathed, then grinned at Al. His parents strongly disapproved of Muggle slang, but Scorpius indulged now and then, a mild rebellion of sorts.

"We've got to get a tracing of these," Al said urgently. "Did you bring parchment?"

"Of course." Scorpius drew out a roll of thin parchment and a quill, which he quickly transfigured to a stick of charcoal. They spread the parchment over the altar and lay the charcoal down atop it. 

_"Genero vestigium!"_

The charcoal slowly moved over the parchment, creating a trace of the runes and other symbols from the stone beneath it. When it was done, they repeated the process on the floor around the altar.

"What do you suppose they did down here," Al wondered.

"Probably a lot of rituals for strengthening the castle; that would make sense if we're down at the foundations."

Al made a circuit of the chamber. "Hey! There's another doorway here," he said excitedly. "Come on, let's see where it goes!"

Scorpius followed him down another passage, this one far shorter than the first, which led them to a door marked with more twined serpents. Al ordered it to open in Parseltongue, and they found themselves in an ancient workroom. A fire sprang up in a brazier as they entered, startling them both a bit, but casting a warm light on an old, old stone work table and shelves of pottery jars and flasks, stone mortars and crucibles, and trays of dried herbs long since crumbled to dust.

"Don't disturb anything, or we'll sneeze our heads off," Al warned. 

"Right," Scorpius agreed, taking in everything with wide eyes. "Al, do you suppose this is one of Slytherin's own work rooms? It looks old enough."

"Maybe," Al said, trying to make out the writing on a faded piece of parchment left on the work surface. "It's old enough I can't read this without a translation spell, that's for sure. Think we could take it with us?"

"Let me note exactly where we found it," Scorpius said, "and cast a stasis spell, or it's liable to crumble when you move it."

Al nodded and gently cast the spell, then picked up the parchment and slipped it into his pocket. "There's something else here," he said, reaching between two pottery jars on the nearest shelf. Looks like a whole stack of parchment. _Reservo,"_ he cast, then pulled the protected parchment free. "We'll look at these later," he said, "When we have plenty of time."

Scorpius had gone to the far side of the room and was peering into the shadows behind the stone shelves. "There's something here," he said. 

Al came to stand by him and look. "Another room?"

"Maybe. Something feels...odd. Do you feel it?" 

"Hm...I don't know. Should we go in?"

Scorpius nodded uncertainly. They stepped through the opening and stopped in dumb amazement. It was a very short passageway, and at its far end stood an archway filled with coruscating light, shimmering in silver, blues and greens, like blazing ice.

"Wow.." Al stared at it. "What _is_ that?"

"I don't...know..." Scorpius said vaguely, but he was already walking toward it.

"Scorpius, wait!" Al said, but it was too late. As Scorpius came within reach of the archway, the light flared and the stone passage trembled. There was a terrifyingly deep growl, as from the very bowels of the castle itself, and a bolt of light hit Scorpius full in the chest, blasting him back the way he had come.

"SCORPIUS!" Al shouted. The walls were shaking and he heard the stone groaning over their heads. He leapt to Scorpius and threw himself over the pale prone form, covering his own head with his hands and waiting for the roof to fall in on them. 

In moments, the shaking stone calmed and the deep growls and groans died away. Al caught his breath and tried to slow his racing heart, as he felt Scorpius's throat for a pulse.

Fair lashes fluttered and ice blue eyes flickered open. A vaguely amused smile stretched Scorpius's mouth. "My hero," he said lightly, but his eyes were bright and there was no mockery in his tone. Al licked his lips, sighing in relief, and suddenly Scorpius was pressing forward and kissing him. Their hands were twined and their mouths mashed together awkwardly, but somehow it was...amazing... _real_...and so much more than any other kiss Al had ever had before. His heart was pounding and his mind was racing, but the world narrowed down to the press of their lips together, and the faint taste of strawberries and cream on Scorpius's breath, and the sudden throbbing between his legs, beating in time with his heart.

They finally broke apart, both gasping for air and not knowing exactly where to look or what to say. Scorpius found his voice first. "I think we'd better get back," he said quietly.

"Yeah," Al agreed. He rose and extended a hand, pulling Scorpius up to his feet. They retreated silently, heading back to the altar chamber and retrieving their tracings, then hurrying back up the passage and out through the old storage room. When they finally emerged into the brightly lit halls of Hogwart's ground floor, they had regained their composure and were quite astonished to find that luncheon was only just being served.

 

* * * * * *

 

As Harry readied himself for bed, he thought guiltily that he probably ought to be concerned about the rather...unusual turn his dreams had taken of late. In fact, he probably should stop by St. Mungo's and talk to a mind-healer, or at least ask for some Dreamless Sleep. It was probably quite unhealthy for him to be carrying on one-sided conversations with a photo of a dead man, and it was almost certainly a Very Bad Sign Indeed that he not only was dreaming of that same dead man every night, but that he craved the dreams, embraced them, and found himself more eager for his bed every night.

The dreams had begun changing not long after Ginny had moved out, and instead of waking up from fighting for his life, Harry found himself finishing the fight, rescuing Severus from certain death, and then...

Well.

At first, they had only talked. Severus had told him the truth he had actually learned from the man's memories, but in the dreams, it was a very beautiful, emotional sharing of long-buried events and feelings, and they had held each other until Harry woke, tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

Before long, the dreams' endings had begun changing again, and lately they had been skipping the battle sequence altogether and playing out far different scenarios. Harry didn't know whether this indicated a healthy turn of events, meaning he had finally moved past the trauma of the war, or whether it simply indicated the depraved state of his mind, which was so anxious to get to the snogging and whatever came after that it hadn't time for mucking about with phantom snakes in decrepit old shacks.

He crawled into bed, dowsed the light and sighed, putting his glasses on the nightstand. These dreams were a decided improvement on the old models, and he wasn't going to give them up unless he had to.

_He stood on a balcony, wearing only a thin linen tunic and golden snakes twined around his forearms. Far below him, lights twinkled in windows and doorways, as the moon rose over the city. There was a sound behind him, and he turned to see Severus enter their chamber, wearing a long black velvet robe bordered in silver thread and emeralds._

_"What do you see?" his lover asked, coming out to him and wrapping long arms around him._

_"Beauty," he said, tilting his head back and smiling up at Severus._

_The hawk-nosed man smiled and leaned down, giving him an inverted kiss. "Your arms are cold," he murmured against Harry's throat. "Come inside and let me warm you," he breathed._

_They went back inside, arm in arm, and Severus lit the braziers with a casual wave of his hand. Harry cast his tunic aside and stretched out on the bed, waiting. Severus let his black robe fall to the floor and stood at the foot of the bed, an alabaster statue gilded by flickering firelight. He knelt on the bed and crawled forward until he straddled Harry. He ran his long-fingered hands down Harry's arms, chest, belly and legs, stroking gently and making every inch of skin shiver with delight. With one finger, he drew a sigil of fire in the air, then flicked it toward Harry's rampant cock. It coiled about the base of his erection and solidified into a golden snake like those twining Harry's arms._

_Harry smiled. "Feeling playful, I see," he remarked, stretching languidly beneath Severus. He drew one knee back and stretched his leg out, wrapping it over Severus's lean hip and stroking the back of his thigh with his toes._

_Severus bent to kiss his lips, then trailed kisses down along his neck and chest. He suckled a nipple while his hand toyed with the other one, then switched sides and teased the wet nipple to a hard point with his calloused fingertips as he scraped his teeth over the second nipple._

_Harry gasped and arched into his touch, craving more sensation. Severus's hands splayed across his belly, kneading the firm muscles, then dipped lower and grazed fingertips down on either side of his straining cock. The golden serpent slithered and wrapped its tail under his scrotum, holding him firmly in check, and Harry groaned as his bollocks and cock hardened further._

_Severus bent his head and licked a long, slow trail from Harry's navel down to the root of his cock, then slowly up from base to glans, where he flicked the tip of his tongue around and around, until Harry thought he must either come or go mad. Severus drew back and blew softly on the wet skin, making Harry shiver and moan, then bent down again and mouthed his sac, sucking one plump testicle into his mouth and rolling it around with his tongue and then the other. When Harry's bollocks were pulsing and aching with the attention, he let them slip free and cradled Harry's arse in both hands._

_With more strength than anyone would have credited, he rocked Harry's hips up and murmured a spell to hold him there. He bent forward again and licked slowly from Harry's scrotum down between his cheeks and over the puckered opening deep within them._

_Harry panted, fisting the linen sheets, as Severus subjected him to slow, torturous delights. Severus flicked his tongue over his anus, first with light, feathery touches, then gradually more and more firmly. He pursed his lips around the swollen pucker and pressed his tongue firmly through the center, then gently nibbled the edges, until Harry was gasping and babbling incoherently._

_Severus pulled back and licked one long finger, then slid it down along the same line his tongue had traced and flicked the nail over Harry's overly sensitized hole. He whispered something, and Harry felt fullness in his arse, just before Severus slipped his finger in and began sliding it in and out._

_Harry writhed, desperate for more contact, and Severus obliged, adding a second finger and toying with his hole for a while, then removing them and pressing Harry's legs back, to replacing fingers with his own hard cock. He thrust in very slowly, shaking with the strain of holding back, but making Harry feel every inch as it gradually filled him. Harry wrapped both legs around Severus and pulled him in yet farther, arching up and trying to get friction against his aching cock, although he knew the charmed snake would give him no relief until Severus allowed it._

_"Harry," Severus breathed, once he was buried as deeply as it was possible to be._

_"Yes! God, yes, Severus! _Please!_ " Harry begged, nearly sobbing with need._

_Severus drew back and began to thrust, slowly at first, then gradually increasing both tempo and force, until he was slamming into Harry with wild abandon, shaking the bed and snapping Harry's head back with the power of each thrust. He reached between them and wrapped his hand about Harry's cock, stroking it as he fucked him._

_Harry's eyes rolled back in his head as Severus pounded into him and frigged his aching, weeping cock. He heard a keening sound and realized vaguely that it was coming from him._

_Severus plunged back in and cried out, and suddenly the golden snake binding Harry's cock vanished, and they were both coming, shaking and gasping and shouting in release._

Harry woke with a gasp, spurting come all over his sheets like a randy teenager. He trembled as the spasms ebbed, then sighed heavily. He barely managed to cast a cleaning charm before he fell asleep yet again.


	4. Chapter 4

Salazar stormed into his workroom and slammed the door behind him. Fools! Could they not see the growing dangers? 

The school had been open for a score of years or more, now, and their new students numbered in the dozens each year. True to his own beliefs, Salazar still favoured pupils with strong ambitions and the drive to excel, and above all, those whose parents or grandparents were also magical folk. 

Each of the Founders had their criteria for selecting pupils, but most of those were simple matters of personal taste and what qualities each most prized. 

In Salazar's eyes, the question of blood was something else entirely.

"We are too few already," he had protested to the others, over an evening cup of wine in their common room, when the subject had been raised yet again. "Do you not see the danger in exposing ourselves to those who have no magic? If you take children, even children of latent power, from mundane homes, whether peasant or noble, their families will question, and before long we will have an angry mob at our gates, with pitchforks and burning torches!"

Godric had made as if to silence him, but his anger was roused and he would not listen. "If you will not think of our safety, what of the students? Do you not remember young Peter Hargrove, beaten and driven from his village by ignorant peasants for being in league with the devil? And all because he was practicing his lessons at home! Or Maelin Corviser, whose father locked her away for her 'unnatural' practices, until he could find a man to take her far away and take her to wife? Or Diota Sweyn?"

He did not need to remind them of what had befallen Diota. Her family had been driven into their own croft, barred in, and the building fired over their heads. It still sickened him to think of it.

"Enough," Godric had said firmly. "Salazar, we _know_ it is a danger. But the danger exists for such children whether we teach them or not! Magic will show itself, always! Should we leave them untaught, a danger to themselves and their families, because we are afraid? Worse, should we leave them prey to the next blood-path wizard that chances by?"

Salazar would hear no more. He had left his wine unfinished and headed for his workroom. If they would not listen, would not _heed_ him...

He sighed. Well, if they would not, they would not. He dared not make empty threats, and he dared not leave them unprotected, even though their own folly brought the danger upon them all.

He drew a bit of sacking from a cage on the floor and regarded the young cockerel sleeping within, head tucked under his wing. If his formula was correct, the bird would lay soon, and he would bury the egg in the dungheap he had prepared for the experiment. And then...well...perhaps he would produce a guardian worthy of Hogwarts.

"Salazar?" Godric's voice came from the hallway. 

He dropped the sacking back into place and returned to his worktable, taking up a pestle and grinding crystallized dragon's bile with more force than was strictly necessary.

"Salazar?" Godric poked his head through the doorway and smiled. "Ah, there you are." He came in and stood idly by as Salazar worked, then moved to stand behind him and put his hands on his shoulders, rubbing gently. "So tense, my serpent. I am sorry for this evening. The subject flicks us all on raw nerves. Perhaps we should simply agree that we will never be in accord on this matter."

Salazar shrugged his hands off, irritably. "And by that you mean that you will continue to bring in any child that shows magic, whether I like it or not. We will disagree, but you will have your way, and I am to say nothing!"

Godric sighed. "Believe me, I understand your concerns. I share them, in fact. But I still say the danger is greater if the children are _not_ taught than if they are. Can we not devise something to protect them? A geas, perhaps, that will prevent them from performing spells away from the school, until they are of age? Or perhaps we can cloud their families' memories, so that they will remember nothing of dishes that float or roses that spring up from snow beds."

Salazar snorted. "You may as well cause their families to forget them entirely or believe them dead. Circe knows enough of them die each winter that a handful more each year will not be remarked."

Godric looked at him in shock, then slowly frowned and nodded. "It is an extreme measure, but if there were no other choice..."

Salazar shook his head and turned back to his grinding. Godric toyed with a spare pestle from the table for a moment, sliding it in and out of his curled fingers. He gently trailed it down Salazar's back, tracing the line of his spine, then slid it over the slight curve of his buttocks. Despite himself, Salazar caught his breath.

Godric leaned in and kissed the side of his neck, as he rubbed the warmed pestle over the soft robe, sliding it along the cleft of his buttocks and pressing it forward between his legs. Salazar's brainless member stirred, having no regard for principles or precautions. He gripped the pestle he was using more tightly and struggled to continue grinding, but Godric mimicked him, pressing the other pestle firmly against him and twisting it as he thrust it against his bollocks, matching the pace of Salazar's grinding.

Godric brushed his hair back and licked behind his ear. "Are you nearly finished?"

"I--" Salazar groaned as Godric pressed the pestle in harder. His staff leapt up, pushing out his robes and drooling against his inner tunic. "Y-yes!" he gasped and dropped the pestle to grip the worktable with both hands. Godric flipped his robe and tunic up over his haunches and rubbed the warmed pestle against bare flesh, pressing it into the cleft and grazing the sensitive flesh inside with the end of the blunt, rounded stone. 

Salazar trembled and spread his legs, damning himself for a fool and a wanton whore, but wanting Godric's touch more than his own dignity. Godric rubbed his buttocks with his free hand and murmured a spell, and the pestle grew slick with heavy oil. He slid it in deeper, probing for Salazar's opening, and teased it, rubbing the hard, heavy stone around and around, twisting it until the puckered hole relaxed enough to admit it. Godric kissed his neck again and pushed the pestle in, to perhaps half of its length.

Salazar gasped as the hard, unyielding object breached him, but Godric only pulled it out a bit and pressed it back in again, slowly setting a pace that matched the pounding of Salazar's heart. Salazar groaned and pressed his hips forward, rubbing his engorged shaft against the broad edge of the worktable as Godric buggered him with the pestle and murmured meaningless babble against his throat.

He felt Godric's free hand slip away, then felt the brush of soft robes against his thighs. Godric withdrew the pestle and thrust in his own swollen rod, making Salazar nearly weep at the touch of hot, living flesh in place of hard stone. Godric slid his hands around under the bunched fabric of Salazar's clothing and wrapped the fingers of one hand around his shaft, as the other hand cradled his bollocks and gently rolled them back and forth while he thrust again and again.

In moments, Salazar felt his organ spasm, and his seed spat forth, spilling over Godric's fist and spattering the insides of his garments. Godric groaned appreciatively and thrust in harder as he milked Salazar's softening member, until he, too, stiffened and spent.

 

* * * * * * * 

 

Al tried to concentrate on his transcription of the rune tracings, but his gaze kept flickering sideways to Scorpius, who was deeply engrossed in a book on translation spells, trying to find something subtle enough to decipher the ancient writings they had found. The fine, white-blond hair was translucent in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, and Scorpius's teeth pressed his lower lip, bringing the bright flush of blood to normally pale pink skin. His tongue slipped out and wet his upper lip, then he frowned and switched to chewing the other side of his lower lip. 

The moisture glinted on his upper lip, and Al was nearly overcome by the urge to lean over and lick it away. He shivered and clenched his thighs, trying to ignore the sudden pulsing in his cock as it sprang to attention. 

Scorpius shifted in his chair and ran one hand through his hair, then made some more notes. 

Al forced himself back to the transcription, carefully annotating his copy of the tracings and making side notes on separate parchment. Scorpius leaned toward him and picked up one of the reference books stacked between them, and Al swallowed hard as his nose filled with the scent of his friend. His cock throbbed hopefully, but he pressed his fist down between his legs and told it sternly to behave! It wasn't as though he hadn't spent time with Scorpius before - hell, they had spent most of seven years together! It was completely ridiculous for him to be feeling and reacting this way, just because of an impulsive, teasing kiss.

He bit back a groan at the memory of Scorpius's lips on his.

Scorpius suddenly thumped the book down and sat back, looking at him. He studied Al for a moment, then stood up. "Come with me; I need your help." He took the quill out of Al's hand and put it down on the table they were using, then pulled Al to his feet. Blinking in mild confusion, Al followed him, back to the dim recesses of the Library stacks, up to the second level and farther back, into the dark alcove that housed the seldom-used Magical Taxation and Accountancy section.

Al looked around in puzzlement. "You found Slytherin's account books?"

Scorpius rolled his eyes and reached for Al with both hands. "No, idiot! I've been flirting with you all damned day, and I'm sick of it! Now, do you want to do something about it, or should I let you go wank in privacy?" He pulled Al close to him and slid one hand down to cup the bulge in his trousers.

Al let out a small whimper and leaned into the touch. "I..."

"Shhh..." Scorpius smiled and slid one knee between Al's legs, until the warm bulk of his thigh rubbed against that aching bulge. Al could feel a similar swelling beneath Scorpius's trousers, pressing against his own thigh. Scorpius grinned at him. "Better?"

He felt a surge of heat and leaned in, kissing Scorpius hard and pressing forward with his leg. The answering pressure on his cock was incredible and he thrust his tongue into Scorpius's mouth, sliding it back and forth as they rocked together. Scorpius wrapped his arms around him and leaned back, pulling him almost on top of him, so that Al pinned him against the stacks. He tilted his hips and thrust up with an almost silent moan. Al ground his leg and crotch into Scorpius's, gasping at the electric thrill and exquisite pleasure that shot up his spine.

"Yessss..." Scorpius breathed against his neck, digging his fingernails through Al's shirt and into his back.

Mindful of their location, Al took a deep breath and bit down on Scorpius's shoulder, muffling his grunts and groans as they frotted together. He was sheened in sweat and trembling, and he felt as if his balls were about to burst, but he had to keep thrusting until he either came or died.

Scorpius whimpered and drew one knee up, wrapping his leg around Al's thigh and pressing his crotch harder against Al's leg. He tilted his head back and then gasped and stilled, and Al felt his cock pulsing against his leg and hot dampness seeping through their clothes. Al moaned, then bit down hard on Scorpius's shoulder and felt as if his brain had suddenly liquefied and was jetting out through his cock as he came and came and came.

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

_He dreamed again...dark colours painting the greyness between dreams into images he could almost recognize as memories, but faded and blurred with time and distance, though neither held sway in this place of infinite greyness..._

_The greyness became stone walls, and his arms were manacled and stretched out above his head, high enough that his ribs ached with it, and his feet scrabbled for purchase on the damp stone floor._

_There had been blood, and dark magic, and a great deal of pain...and the pain was still with him, but most of all, there was the cold knowledge that his tormenters had left him here to die alone. The chill of abandonment coiled down into his vitals, and it was all he could do to keep from sobbing._

_He heard footsteps, and a slight man in dark robes came into view. Green eyes looked at him with infinite compassion, and hands reached up to wipe the blood and sweat from his face._

_"Shhh..." A hand cupped his cheek and soothed him. "I'm here. I'll look after you," he said._

_He was bathed with warm water and healing herbs, and his body dried with a soft cloth. Gentle hands rubbed ointment into the worst of his injuries, then trailed slowly across his chest. Calloused thumbs circled his nipples, and he arched and cried out at the intense sensation. Palms smoothed their way down his abdomen and rubbed his lengthening cock, then wrapped around it and stroked._

_He had little purchase to thrust, suspended as he still was, but his buttocks tensed, and he tried to press forward into the grasping hands. The green eyes looked up at him and glittered, and then sank down out of view. All he could see was a dark head bent over his aching prick, before wet, wet heat enveloped him, and a tongue swirled over his swollen glans, then rasped along the great pulsing vein running down his shaft._

_He cried out, but the mouth and tongue were in no hurry, sucking and licking at him until he could bear it no more. His bollocks tightened and his cock jerked wildly. He clenched his fists as his orgasm broke free, and his come spurted, filling the avid mouth that swallowed it and continued sucking and licking, stripping every bit of fluid from him. The agile tongue licked away the last droplets, then his softened prick slipped free of the lips that held it._

_Strong hands lifted his legs, and there was a whisper of magic. He felt a strange, slick fullness in his arse, and then his legs were lifted higher, and a thick, hot cock pierced him, sliding in deep at the first thrust. He gasped at the stretching, burning pleasure, and wrapped his legs around the trim torso. Powerful arms held him close and a voice kept chanting as he was filled over and over again...a word he almost recognized...soft and sibilant...over and over, in time with each thrust..._

__"Severus...Severus...Severus..." __

_Arms and hips shifted, and the next thrust sent a burst of stars across his eyes and white lightning racing along his nerves. Again, and again..._

_He threw back his head and screamed,_ **"HARRY!"** __

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

Salazar looked down from his high tower, sighing at the forces marshaled on the plains below. After so many years, after all his principles and passions, after he had turned his back on the greatest work any four wizards had ever accomplished, after he had walked away from the one person he might truly have claimed to love, it had come to this. Here he was, old, ill, a curse eating away at him, and under siege in his own castle, by his own hand-picked protégé.

It simply was not fair.

He sighed. Well, he was not Godric, to think there must be some sort of justice in the world. He had known the dangers all along, and if he had ever stopped to consider it, he would have guessed that one of his bright, ambitious young wizardlings would some day decide they wanted his power for themselves.

His hand went into his robe and closed on the old stone amulet he still wore after all this time. Marked with his own device of twined serpents on one side, it still bore the runes he and Godric had charmed into it and its mate, with their ritual of binding and protection. When they had completed the ritual, the four scribed circles in the stone floor had been blazing bright with new runes. He had taken two of them, marking one for Godric, the other for himself, and leaving two for Rowena and Helga, should they choose to bind themselves to the castle as well.

The irony of it all was that after all his cunning plans and preparations, Godric had never needed the amulet...but now, a good sixty years later, perhaps _he_ did!

A noise from below made him look out again and sigh to see "Lord Blackfire" (or whatever he called himself this year) had brought up a trebuchet and begun lobbing pots of flaming tar and doubtless worse things over the wall. For all his talk of magical might, he had resorted to a mundane siege engine at the last.

"And much good may it do him," Salazar grumbled. He had sent the last of his students and servants away two weeks ago, through a subterranean passage that brought them out in a series of caves a good league from the castle. The intervening time he had spent setting nasty little surprises for his enemy all throughout the castle, destroying a few items that were too dangerous to move, gathering all of his precious writings and collected studies into a trunk, and, foolishly, accepting a Wizard's duel with the upstart, which had resulted in the curse that was slowly destroying him. 

He really should have credited the man with the speed of youth and enough cunning to cheat...

Well, no matter. They would breach the fortified walls soon enough, and when they arrived, he had no wish to be present. He would not have his corpse dangled from his own tower, nor his head adorn a spike outside the gate. He rose from the window seat and made his painful way to his trunk, gasping at the effort it cost him. He drew his wand and shrunk the heavy trunk down to a size he could fit in a belt-pouch, which he so did. He looked around his study one last time, checked the clever trap-spells over the doors and windows, and picked up a small silver casket that held mementos and a few personal jewels. He slipped it into his pocket and gritted his teeth as the whole castle shook with the impact of one of Blackfire's missiles. 

"Yes, yes, soon enough, soon enough," he muttered. He sheathed his wand and grasped the old, worn amulet firmly in one hand. His thumb traced the runes on the stone, then he planted the image of Hogwarts in his mind's eye and commanded, "HOME!"

He had only a moment to wonder whether the spell would still hold, after all these years, then pain and blackness swallowed him.

 

* * * * * * * * * 

 

_Harry stretched luxuriantly on the bed of soft pelts and smiled when his hand brushed a long, lean leg. He opened his eyes and saw Severus sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him._

_"When did you return?" he asked._

_"Just now," Severus replied. "And none too soon, to judge from your indolence."_

_"Indolent, am I?" Harry grinned and rose up onto his knees. "Come here and let me show you how indolent!"_

_Severus rose and stripped off his boots. Harry reached for the lacings of his leather trews and pulled them free, then slid the soft leather down Severus's long legs. He undid the wrist ties of his leather jerkin and unlaced it as well, then slid the fine linen shirt off his lover's shoulders, until Severus stood before him clad only in thin linen drawers._

_Harry smiled and pulled him forward onto the bed. Severus quirked an eyebrow, but complied, and Harry reached for the black ribbon that bound back his hair, pulled it free and carded his fingers through the long, glossy black mass. He raked it back from Severus's brow and asked, "Did you miss me?"_

_"I was hardly gone long enough to miss you," Severus answered, but he smiled nonetheless and pulled Harry close for a kiss. Their tongues slid against one another and their teeth grated briefly as the kiss deepened._

_Harry pushed him onto his back and reached down to untie the fastening of his drawers, then pull them away and toss them aside. "Now, lest you call me indolent again,_ I _shall do all the work!"_

_Severus snorted, but lay obediently still as Harry retrieved a small flask of oil and annointed his fingers. He rose up on his knees and reached down with glistening fingertips to probe at his arsehole, then slide his fingers in, preparing himself._

_Severus caught his breath at the sight of Harry, eyes closed, thrusting his fingers in and out, his lovely cock already hard as he readied himself for Severus. His own cock twitched and began to fill, until it stood at full readiness, waiting for attention._

_At last, Harry opened his eyes and poured more oil into his palm, then slicked it over Severus's rampant erection. He straddled Severus and moved forward, brushing the head of Severus's cock all along his belly and his own cock and bollocks, until it was where he wanted it. He rose up higher on his knees, then took Severus in hand, aligned cock to hole and sat down._

_Severus gasped at the intensity of it. Harry grinned and clenched his arse tightly on Severus's cock, then eased the pressure and began to move up and down, fucking himself on Severus as he stroked his own cock. Severus attempted to thrust up into Harry, but Harry held him down firmly and drove the pace alone, until Severus was gasping and swearing and shouting as he came. Harry stroked himself a few more times, then his cock spasmed and he spattered them both liberally with come._

Harry woke with his hand on his prick, still coming all over himself. He swore mildly and cast a cleaning charm, then got out of bed. It was late enough to be up, he decided, especially since the kids were due home for the winter hols today.

He got dressed and made himself some tea and toast, then, as usual, he headed for the study and sat down for a chat with Severus.

"Good morning," he said cheerfully, ignoring the odd sense of guilt and shame that niggled at him. Severus turned in his photograph and nodded almost pleasantly.

"The kids are due home today; I'm going to pick them up at the station this afternoon. Well, Al and Lily, anyway. James will probably turn up sometime this evening, if he hasn't got a hot date." Harry grinned. "We'll probably go to the Burrow for Christmas. Ginny and I discussed it and agreed it's such a tradition that it would be a shame to break it...especially after I suggested she bring Marga along." He paused to sip tea and something occurred to him. "Severus, would you like to come along? I mean...I could bring your photo with me. Molly insisted I'd have a room to myself, and we could...oh, what am I saying?" Harry grimaced.

Severus looked at him strangely.

"I'm sorry. I just--" Harry sighed. "Severus...I've been dreaming about you again, about us. But...they're not like they used to be. They're...new...different. And we're not fighting Voldemort or Nagini...we're...well, we're lovers, in all of them." He swallowed hard, but Severus seemed unperturbed. "I suppose it's an obsession, isn't it? I should go to St. Mungo's, see a shrink." He buried his face in his hands. "I thought, as long as it was just like this, just talking to a photograph, that wasn't so bad. I talked myself out of commissioning a portrait of you, did I ever tell you that? I didn't want to hear you telling me I was sick in the head." He looked up bleakly, and then blinked.

Severus held out his arms, then wrapped them around himself, hugging himself. His eyes glittered oddly, but his meaning was clear.

Harry leaned his forehead against the frame and sighed. "Thanks. I...I'm not sure what I would have done without you...even just this picture of you. God, I wish things had worked out differently! There must have been something I could have done to save you!"

Severus shook his head and made a hushing motion, then looked pointedly over Harry's shoulder. Harry frowned in puzzlement, then turned to see the clock. "Oh, right. Yeah, I'd better get started. Cleaning, shopping, then off to pick up the kids. I just...well, thanks, Severus." He rubbed the frame gently before he left.

Severus remained in the photo, staring out into the room with a bemused expression on his face.

 

* * * * * * * * * 

 

Al shared a compartment with Scorpius on the Express, heading home for winter hols, but nothing untoward passed between them. This was more due to the fact that they also shared the compartment with Rose Granger-Weasley, and Scorpius's cousin, Etienne de Malfois, who had transferred from Beauxbatons the previous year and was making eyes at Rose than to any form of restraint on their part, but Al felt virtuous, nonetheless.

Lily and Rose's brother Hugo had poked their noses in earlier and had been told to piss off back to the fifth-years' compartments where they belonged. Lily got off one good hex, but Al had been blocking or dodging her hexes for years, and besides, he'd needed a haircut anyway.

They could see the City looming ahead of them and started gathering their effects. Scorpius slipped a bit of rolled parchment into Al's pocket and asked quietly, "Write me?" He coloured a bit and continued, a bit louder, "When you've worked out that code, of course. I want to compare it with the runic scheme in a book I remember from Grandfather's library. I'll send you the translation when I've finished it, too."

"Sure," Al said. He smiled at Scorpius, remembering that frantic day in the Library stacks, and an afternoon out behind Greenhouse Four, and one freezing night up on the Astronomy Tower, when they'd damned near been caught, _and_ frozen their bollocks off in the bargain! "You're going up to the Manor for Yule?"

Scorpius nodded, rolling his eyes. "Grandmother insists. Grandfather, too, of course, but I often think he'd be just as happy left in peace with his books, his cursed artefacts collection, and his wine cellar."

Al snickered, and then they were pulling into the station, and he could see Dad waving frantically at every window, and Mum standing beside him, arm in arm with a tall, lantern-jawed woman who wore a Harpies jumper. Aunt Hermione was there as well, saying something to Uncle Ron.

He managed to squeeze Scorpius's hand as they got off the train, just before their assorted relatives overwhelmed them. Al watched the shock of white-blond hair weave through the throngs of people until met by a slim man with the same fair hair, and a tall, slender woman who wrapped her arms around Scorpius and held him briefly. And then they were gone.

Al smiled and turned back to defend himself against Lily's complaints.

 

* * * * * * * *


	5. Chapter 5

When he awoke, the first thing he saw was Godric, looking down at him with a face full of sorrow and concern. The face was older, creased with time and experience, and the flaming red hair and beard were liberally threaded with silver, but the eyes were as they had always been, warm and bright, though now filled with a nameless pain.

"Godric..." he managed to say, but the pain lanced through him, robbing him of more breath.

"My serpent," Godric said, gently stroking his forehead. "I am so glad you have returned...though I could wish it had been far sooner."

"I...too," Salazar gasped. "How...?"

Godric pulled a chain from beneath his robe, dangling a very familiar amulet before Salazar's eyes. "Did you think I would forget, or cast it aside? _Bound in blood, now and always,_ we said. It is an oath I would never forswear. When it burned with power, I knew yours was calling to mine, and somehow, I knew where to find you."

Salazar nodded feebly. "I set...the spell to...bring you...to safety...my lion. To hold...you out of...time...until I came...to your side." He laughed a little, then was racked with coughing. "Now it has...brought me here...and you are by my side...once more."

Godric held him as he coughed again. "I will fetch potions--" he began, then stopped as Salazar shook his head.

"No...no use. It is...a curse...winding...through my vitals," he said faintly. "I knew...there was little time."

Godric looked distressed. "I will reset the stasis spell, then, to give me time to find the counter-curse."

Salazar smiled sadly. "No, my lion. I have searched...all my tomes...to no...avail. And it is...too late, now."

Godric's face twisted in anguish. "Have you returned only to die?" he demanded. "No, Salazar! I will not lose you again!"

Salazar patted his hand gently, then reached for his belt-pouch. "Here," he said. "My library. Do as...you think best. Some of the writings...are dangerous," he warned, "but no knowledge...should be...cast aside lightly." He drew the small silver casket from his robes and pressed it into Godric's hands. "A few...trinkets. Keep them...my lion, in...memory." He chuckled weakly and added, "All but...the gold locket. Give that...to young...Siegfried...son of...Aelwyn, the herb...wife." He grinned as Godric's brows rose. "Possibly...he looks...like me," he added, closing Godric's hand over the casket.

Godric's look of surprise softened into fond amusement. "Sly old serpent!" he said, "And how much farther afield have you sown your seed? Shall I expect more of your get to present themselves for schooling each year?"

Salazar merely smiled, closing his eyes. Breathing was so difficult...it was far easier to rest here, his head pillowed on Godric's lap, and the beloved voice sounding in his ears. "Godric," he asked, very softly, "you will not...forget me?"

"Could I forget my own heart?" Godric bent and kissed his brow. "No, I will not forget. And your name will be part of Hogwarts forever, remembered always by all who pass through this school. Slytherin House shall be honoured to bear your name, and all its children will wear your device with great pride."

"I...am glad," Salazar said, so faintly Godric had to bend low to catch the words. "I thought...you hated me..."

"No, my love. Never that. I have loved you, always, even when we quarreled, and I shall love you ever after."

"I am...sorry...we fought..." he said, sounding almost like a very small boy. "Forgive...?"

"Everything. Always," Godric answered, stroking his hair back. "Be at ease, my serpent. All is well."

"So...tired..." He sighed. "I am glad...to be...home..."

Godric sat cradling him a long, long time.

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

_He dreamed and drifted and dreamed again, or was it the first time?_

_Sunlight dappled a clearing in verdant woods, and a lithe young man crowned with vine-leaves ran through the soft grass, laughing and smiling back over his shoulder at him._

_He sprawled on the grass in a dark green tunic and sandals, watching the young man cavort. Green eyes danced as he gathered flowers and brought them back, threading them into Severus's hair with impish delight._

_Severus bore it with good patience, until a flower hit him on the nose. He caught the bronzed arms, rolled Harry over onto his belly and straddled the laughing, wriggling youth, holding him down by the shoulders._

_Harry impudently pushed his buttocks upward, prodding Severus in the groin. His cock responded quickly, tenting out his tunic, anxious to slide into the sheath so readily offered._

_Instead, he swatted the plump rear and grinned at Harry's yelp of pain and the giggles that followed, then sat back on his knees and pushed Harry's brief tunic up over his arse and proceeded to spank him properly. Harry squirmed and shouted, but his laughter rather spoiled the protests._

_Severus admired the bright red handprints he made on Harry's pert buttocks and swatted him again. Harry let out a groan, this time, and his squirming was far more suggestive. Severus gave him another pair of swats, then blew across the reddened flesh and smacked him yet again._

_Harry moaned and thrust his hips, trying to spread his legs and push his arse up higher all at once. Severus licked one finger and drew it across the rosy skin, blew on the dampness and then swatted Harry again._

_"Severus,_ please! _” Harry begged._

_The state of his bright red buttocks and Severus's own cock made it easy to relent. He bent forward and licked gently along the cleft of Harry's arse, then whispered a spell and pressed his suddenly slick fingers between Harry's cheeks, searching out the puckered opening and sliding two fingers in at once._

_Harry writhed and whimpered. The sound went straight to Severus's cock. He slid his fingers in and out a few times, then judged it well enough and slipped them out, setting the swollen head of his cock to Harry's rosy cheeks. The girth of his shaft spreading the sore buttocks made Harry whimper again, but he arched his back, trying to take Severus in. Severus grasped him by the hips and pressed in, piercing the tight ring of muscle slowly, then gradually forcing his cock all the way in._

_Harry held his breath, then gasped as Severus began to thrust. Short, slow strokes at first, then deeper and faster, until his scrotum slapped against Harry's arse on every thrust, and the head of his cock caught in Harry's sphincter each time he pulled back. As he set the rhythm, he reached around and found Harry's hard cock, wet with precome and pulsing with need. He wrapped his hand around it and began stroking, swirling his thumb over the head and flicking the sensitive slit with his nail._

_Harry was keening, thrusting back to take him deeper as he pressed in, and then forward, trying to drive his cock harder through Severus's fingers. It was only moments before Severus felt Harry's cock jerk in his grasp and spurt come over his fingers, spattering the ground beneath him. He continued to stroke and thrust, and Harry's deep groans of pleasure wrapped around his spine. His bollocks drew up tight and he shuddered as he spent._

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

"Dad?"

"Hm? Yes, Al, what is it?" Harry looked up from the book he was reading and saw an odd expression on his younger son's face. "Problem?"

"Um...no...well, maybe." Al looked both puzzled and concerned. "I told you about the history of runes study that Scorpius and I are working on, right?"

Harry nodded.

"I've just finished this pattern, and...well, see, here? This rune, and this one...I would have said it was a bonding spell, but...um..."

"Al, I never did take Ancient Runes; if you need technical help, you're going to have to ask Aunt Hermione, or hit the books some more," Harry said ruefully.

"No, it's not that, it's just...Dad...did you ever know someone who, um...well, did you ever know anyone...gay?" Al looked incredibly uncomfortable for his supposedly sophisticated age of seventeen, but Harry managed not to laugh.

"As a matter of fact, son, yes, I have. I have several gay friends, and one of your namesakes, the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts ever had, was actually gay," he said solemnly. He kept back the comment that dear old Dad was probably one hell of a lot gayer than he could reasonably expect his son to accept right off the bat.

"Really?"

"Really. Why do you ask?"

"Well, see, these runes, there's a...um...sexual component...desire, sexual power, male energy...it's a bonding spell, but there's this odd sex thing twisted up in it. And Scorpius just wrote me that he's pretty sure the writings we found down there were actually Salazar Slytherin's, some studies and a few letters he wrote, and--"

"Down _where?_ " Harry sat bolt upright and stared. "Al, I think you'd better go over this from the beginning, and don't leave out any of the odd little details, like you and Scorpius Malfoy digging around in Salazar Slytherin's private papers!"

Al blinked at him, but then took a deep breath and told him the whole story - except for the part about Scorpius kissing him, or anything else they had done afterwards. When he had finished, Harry was silent a long time.

"Al...well, I'd scold you, but frankly you were a lot more careful about this than I was at your age," Harry said. "But I do have a couple of questions. This chamber, Scorpius thinks it was Slytherin's?"

Al nodded.

"Hm. And the...curtain of light - did _you_ try to touch it, or just Scorpius?"

"Just Scorpius, Dad. When it lashed out him, we figured we had better get out of there."

"Sound reasoning. Okay, son. Thanks for telling me. If you don't mind, may I borrow that translation Scorpius sent you?"

"Sure, Dad," Al said readily, handing over the scroll. "It's dull in spots, but...um...I think Slytherin sort of had a thing for Godric Gryffindor."

Harry snorted. "Well, we used to joke about what the Founders got up to, back when they were building the school. I guess the joke's on us, hm?" He tucked the scroll into his desk. "You'd better get some rest. It's late, and we're going to Hermione and Ron's in the morning."

Al nodded and put his notes and books away. "Good night, Dad."

"Good night, Al. See you in the morning." 

When his son had gone, Harry unrolled the translation and began to read.

Scorpius clearly had a Ravenclaw's organized mind. His initial summary inventoried and described the documents they had been able to identify and translate and made general notes on a long list of documents not yet translated. From there, the translations began with a discussion of warding spells and moved on to alchemical theory and several potions recipes.

Harry had nearly nodded off by the time he reached the middle of the scroll, but he jerked to full wakefulness at an unexpected phrase and had to read it again to be sure he hadn't dreamt it.

_"...the delight of your body against mine..."_

He backed up and reread that entry from the beginning. 

It was a love letter from Slytherin to Godric Gryffindor...

When he had finished the letter, Harry's eyes were suspiciously damp. If the original text was anything close to the translation, it was an incredibly powerful and moving letter, filled with all the angst of uncertain love and the passion shared between two legendary wizards. He scanned the rest of the scroll, until he found another personal missive between a discussion of boundary markings and a recipe for using lacewing flies with stinksap in a fumigation potion.

This one appeared to be more of a diary entry than a letter, and as Harry read Salazar's fears for Godric's safety, and his plans to ward him and bring him to safety in dire extremity, he suddenly realized what that curtain of light must guard. The notes mentioned a pair of charmed runic amulets Slytherin intended to forge through a complicated ritual at Hogwarts' foundations, and Harry suddenly sat up straight.

"Severus--" He turned to the framed photo, but the frame was empty. "Severus?"

In a moment Severus came into view, an inquiring expression on his face. "Severus, I've just been reading some of Slytherin's writing...he mentions a bonding ritual, and two runic amulets, one each for Slytherin and Gryffindor. Do you know anything about them?" He watched intently for a response.

Severus regarded him for a few moments, then slowly unbuttoned the top buttons of his coat and slipped his hand inside. He drew out a long, thin chain with a small pendant on it and held it out toward Harry. It was very old and worn, but the twined snakes were still discernable on one side. Severus turned it over and Harry saw runes more deeply incised upon the opposite side.

"Severus...is that amulet handed down through the Slytherin Heads of House?" 

Severus nodded slowly.

"Did you keep it, that last year?" Harry's excitement was mounting.

Severus nodded again, a rueful smile quirking the corner of his mouth.

"You were wearing it," Harry breathed. "Oh, God..." 

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

_Greyness and mist...shafts of light amid floating shadows._

_Did he dream? Or was this death, after all? Timelessness and nothingness, interrupted by dreams ever more vivid and real..._

_The green eyes stared at him with longing...he reached toward them, but they receded into darkness._

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

"Neville, do you mind if I pop through for a moment?" Harry asked through the floo.

"Harry! No, not at all. Come through!"

Harry stepped through into Neville's cosy sitting room, which was brightly decorated for the holidays. A gramophone played carols in the background and snow was falling onto the Christmas tree beside the fireplace.

"So, what can I do for you? Lily's not worried about her extra credit project already, is she?" Neville asked with a grin, pouring sherry and offering a plate of mince pies.

Harry chuckled. "No, but she will be, soon, I'm sure," he said, accepting a pie and a small glass of sherry. "Actually, Neville, I came to ask you something in your official capacity as Head of Gryffindor."

"Oh?"

"Have you ever heard of a Gryffindor runic amulet?"

Neville blinked at him for a moment. "You mean the House Stone?" He reached into the neck of his robe and pulled out a gold chain with a familiar stone pendant on it. In place of serpents, it bore a rampant griffin, but when Neville turned it over, the runes on the reverse were the same as those described in Slytherin's manuscript, the same as those on the pendant Severus wore in the photo.

Harry swallowed hard. "Yes, I think that must be it."

Neville looked at the pendant thoughtfully. "It's part of the Gryffindor Head of House's...well, regalia, if you want to call it that. There's a lion-headed goblet and a threadbare old red velvet robe with ruby and gold clasps, and a few other things. The Head of Gryffindor House is supposed to wear the pendant while serving in office."

"Neville...would you lend it to me, just for a while? I swear I'll bring it back tomorrow."

Neville shrugged. "Sure, Harry! I really don't think Godric's ghost will come haunt me, as long as I let it go to another Gryffindor," he said, grinning.

"I wouldn't be too sure," Harry replied grimly.

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

He followed Al's directions and made his way down into the bowels of the castle, a canvas bag filled with healing potion, anti-venin, blood replenisher, nutritive potion, a handful of bezoars, and a thick blanket slung over his shoulder. He held the Gryffindor amulet in one hand, not sure whether he was entitled to actually wear the artefact.

His Parseltongue had been long disused, but came readily from his lips, and the locked and warded passages opened before him. He found the altar chamber, and Slytherin's workroom beyond it. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he went through the inner doorway into the recessed passage, and found the shimmering curtain of light, just as Al had described it. He gripped the amulet tightly and walked forward.

"Let me in," he said, trying to envision the scintillating light as a mass of jeweled snakes, writhing in a tangle. He closed his eyes and stepped through the light...and felt only a mild tingle, and then a deep, bone-chilling coldness.

He opened his eyes and stared. The chamber in which he found himself was roughly the size of the altar chamber, but its walls were like slabs of ice, translucent, softly glowing, and thick as the stone blocks that formed Hogwarts' outer walls. Their glow was the only illumination. The floor was glossy black and so cold he could feel it through his boots. In the center of the chamber there was a thick column of white mist rising from floor to ceiling, and wider than he was tall. It radiated cold, and thin wisps of icy mist licked out toward him as he approached.

Without quite knowing why, he held out the amulet, and was unsurprised to see the runes glowing in bright blues and greens. He rubbed the inscribed griffin and murmured, "All right, Salazar...here I am..." and he stretched out the amulet to pierce the column of mist.

His hand tingled and he felt the amulet warm and then grow uncomfortably hot, but he hung onto it and pushed his arm forward into the mist. A sigh echoed all around him, and suddenly the mist thinned, fell down to the floor and flowed away.

A black stone bier lay before him, and on it was Severus.

He looked exactly as he had the last time Harry had seen him in person: deathly pale, covered in blood, with gaping puncture wounds in his neck. He was still as stone, but as Harry stared at him in wonder, the blood began to ooze sluggishly from his neck. 

"Shite!" Harry ran forward and dropped to his knees beside the bier, rummaging in his bag. He pulled out a flask of blood replenisher and forced the neck past Severus's icy lips, tilting it to fill his mouth and rubbing his frigid throat with one hand to get him to swallow. He pulled out healing potion next and poured it profligately over the wounds that were bleeding more and more freely, sighing in relief as he watched the blood slow and finally stop once more.

Severus was unmoving. Harry pulled out another bottle of blood replenisher and one of anti-venin and forced them down him as well, rubbing the marble-like throat over and over again. "Come on, Severus," he chanted. "I didn't come all this way, after all these years, just to have you give up on me!" He pushed down on Severus's chest, rubbed the icy skin over his heart, then balled up his fist and punched him, hard, right over the sternum.

He might have imagined it, but he thought Severus's lips had fluttered. He thumped him again, trying to remember that artificial respiration class Hermione had insisted they all take, years ago. He tried to stay calm, although panic was fluttering at the back of his mind, and count, then hit Severus again...counting and swearing...and again, trying desperately not to cry...and again...

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

_The grey mist seethed and roiled around him. Light suffused it, but brought no warmth or colour. The nothingness faded sullenly away, but the mist flowed back and forth, mocking him._

_He was bound in chains of cold iron and sheathed in ice._

_Alone._

_The cold crept up his limbs and turned them to icy stone, but the chill around his heart was more bitterly painful than the freezing of his flesh._

_He was alone and would be alone forever. His body would turn to ice and his heart would freeze and shatter into a million tiny crystals in his frozen chest, and his mind would be left to suffer the pangs of emptiness...abandonment...isolation..._

_He would go mad, of course. It might have happened already. Who could say how long it took a man to lose his wits, when there was nothing to mark the passage of time, nothing that changed but the ever-increasing iciness?_

_He tried to remember the warmth of Harry's green eyes, tried to summon one of the dreams...had they been dreams, or only the figments of his fading mind? If he could remember them, surely he could return there, lose himself in the warmth and caring...and love? If he must go mad, could he not choose his own delusions?_

_Or was this death after all, and his hell the knowledge that he had failed and was left to spend a cold eternity alone?_

_In the midst of his increasing despair, a bright pain seared him like a blazing coal, in the center of his chest, right above his heart. He jerked, and the pain came again. Suddenly he could see light, pure, radiant, golden light, like a miniature sun, shining from his chest._

_The cold seemed to hesitate, then gradually receded. He could feel his arms once more, and he reached for the blazing thing on his chest, closing his frozen fingers around the amulet he had worn since the day he had become Head of Slytherin House._

_He clung to it even as it burned him. The pain was pulsing all through his body, but with every pulse, he felt the cold recede, until finally he gasped and the glowing air rushed in, suffusing him with warmth._

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

There was a twitch, and suddenly Severus's chest moved convulsively, and he coughed and gasped, then started breathing on his own. 

"Severus!" Harry cried out, grasping his icy shoulders and hugging him madly.

Severus's eyelids fluttered, then flickered open. It was plain he could see nothing, but his breath suddenly stuttered and he shivered violently.

"Oh, shite - shock, you've got to be in shock. Just a second!" Harry pulled out the thick blanket and cast a warming charm on it, then wrapped it around Severus, folding it under to tuck it between him and the icy stone on which he lay.

"I've got to get you out of here..." Harry muttered. He looked down at the amulet in his hand and frowned, then slid his finger under the bloodstained collar of Severus's shirt and pulled out the other amulet. "Well, this might not work, but it'll save time if it does, and we won'd lose much if it doesn't." He wrapped his arm around Severus, holding him tightly, and pressed the two amulets together. The runes on either side glowed blindingly bright. Harry gripped them both and commanded, "Hogwarts Hospital Wing!"

The glowing runes flickered a bit uncertainly, but Harry pictured the familiar place firmly in his mind and suddenly the glow brightened, and Harry felt a wild jolt, as if a rather rough portkey had activated.

The next thing he knew, he and Severus were deposited onto an empty bed in the deserted Hospital Wing. 

Severus was shaking violently, but Harry wrapped his arms around him and called out, "Madam Pomfrey? Help! Madam Pomfrey!"

In moments, he heard running footsteps and Madam Pomfrey came trotting in, wearing a bathrobe and fuzzy slippers, with her grey hair twisted up into a loose knot.

"Who on earth - Harry! My goodness, what are you-- **_SEVERUS?_ ** Great Merlin's ghost! Harry, quickly! Fetch more blankets from the warming chest by the window!" She drew her wand and cast a spell on Severus, and the shaking eased a bit.

Harry ran for the blankets, then spent the next hour fetching potions and other things as ordered. At last, Severus lay sleeping, his colour more natural and his breath slow and even. Madam Pomfrey nodded in satisfaction. "Rather like treating someone who had fallen through the ice in the middle of winter," she noted. "I won't ask you to explain now, Harry dear, but rest assured I want the entire story as soon as you've had a chance to process it."

Harry nodded dumbly. "He looks so young," he marveled. "He hasn't aged a day."

Poppy looked down at the sleeping man and smiled a little sadly. "He was only thirty-eight, you know. Younger than you are, now, dear boy!" She patted Harry's hand. "It's nearly Christmas Eve," she said. "Quite a Christmas miracle."

Harry stared down at Severus. "May I stay with him, for a bit?"

"Certainly, Harry. Call if you need me. The house elves will fetch you some tea, if you like." she smiled. "I'll leave you in peace for a while. Minerva will have to be told, of course, but I think it can wait until morning." She patted his hand again and left.

Harry sat on a chair by Severus's bed and watched him sleeping. It was true, when he looked objectively at the man; he did look younger than Harry now did, by several years. On the other hand, he looked just like he had in the photo for the past twenty years, just like Harry's mind's-eye image of him.

Severus sighed heavily in his sleep and one hand slipped out from under the blanket. Harry wrapped his hands around it and rubbed it gently.

"I've been talking to you for so many years, it feels strange to sit here and be able to touch you... _really_ you. I don't know how you'll feel when you wake up, but it's felt like we've been friends for a long, long time. I...well, I've been dreaming about you, too...off and on..." Harry let his voice trail off as he felt his cheeks heating. "I won't embarrass you with all of it. I just...I hope we can become the friends I pretended we were."

He sat by Severus's bed through the night. As the first flush of dawn brightened the sky, Severus stirred and coughed slightly. Harry leapt to his feet and poured a glass of water, then held it to Severus's lips.

Dark eyelashes fluttered and darker eyes slowly opened. There was a moment of puzzlement, then Severus tried to speak. Harry held the glass to his lips again and he managed to drink, then tried again. 

"Harry?" he asked, hoarsely.

Harry's heart leapt at the sound of his name. "Yes! Severus, I'm here," he said, gripping the man's hand. "God, it _is_ a miracle! You're alive!"

"Alive..." Severus looked confused, then lifted his hand to brush Harry's cheek. "I dreamed...cold...alone...and then something...melted ice..."

Harry held up Gryffindor's amulet. "The House amulets; I borrowed the Gryffindor one from Neville - he's Head of Gryffindor now - and it led me to you." He suddenly looked confused. "Severus...you...you seem different...almost like you..." His face flushed. "It's been a long time, years and years. My kids are almost done with school."

Severus stared blankly at him.

"Sorry - history lesson later, I promise. But...I had a photo of you; I talked to it all the time...and...I dreamed of you..."

Severus seemed reassured. "I dreamed you," he breathed. "You were there, because I dreamed you...and now...I must have dreamed you again."

Harry smiled, but gripped Severus's hand harder. "It's not a dream this time. It's real. I'm here, and you've been in Salazar Slytherin's freezer for the past twenty-six years, but you're here, and you're alive! You saved me so many times, years ago; this time I got to save you."

Severus nodded vaguely. "Tired," he said. "Need to sleep..."

"Sleep, then," Harry said. "I'll be right here."

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

Harry finished his letter and sealed it, putting it atop the stack of outgoing mail with a sigh of relief. That took care of his obligatory holiday letters and cards; the ones to all the people he actually cared about had been sent a week ago.

He stretched and looked at the pictures on his desk. James and Cherise smiled and waved from a sandy beach on Capri. James swore it was serious, this time, but then he always said that. Still, Cherise was a very nice girl, and if she wanted to put up with his eldest son, she had more patience than most.

There was a new picture of Ginny, with Marga and the kids on a mini-break to Copenhagen. Everyone was beaming as they walked down a cobbled lane and posed beside a great fountain.

Al and Scorpius, dressed in formal robes, sat very properly in matching wingback chairs on either side of a fireplace at Malfoy Manor. It had been taken just after they left Hogwarts, at Scorpius's mother's insistence. When Harry looked directly at them, Al smiled and Scorpius nodded politely, but when he looked away, he could see them smile secretively at each other out of the corner of his eye, and watch Scorpius stretch out a hand to brush along Al's sleeve. Ah, well! Scorpius was a good lad, despite being a Malfoy, and Al had loved him since they were eleven years old. Add in the sheer perverse delight Harry felt at the idea of Lucius Malfoy watching his only grandson take up with a _Potter_ , and Harry figured there was more than enough reason to welcome Scorpius to the family. Once Al got around to admitting what was going on, of course.

"Harry! Are you going to be at that all day?" an impatient voice called from the first floor landing.

"Almost done. Be there in a minute," he called back.

He glanced at the latest photo, but the two figures in it were otherwise occupied, snogging madly under an old oak tree. He smiled and turned to the one that was still his favorite. "Severus? Did you want to come upstairs with us?" he asked the figure in the smooth black frame.

Severus cocked his head to one side, then inclined his head. Harry smiled. "All right. Up we go." He cradled the photo in one arm and headed up the stairs.

"Your diligence with paperwork has not improved since your school days, Mr. Potter," a dark, rich voice intoned, dripping with sarcasm. 

"True, true," Harry said, smiling fondly. "I had a note from Lily, by the way; she apologizes, but she's going to Ginny's first and won't see us until Christmas Eve." He set the framed photo down on the dresser, angling it so it had a good view of the window, then sat down on the bed.

"You're not still toting that silly thing around and talking to it, are you?" The voice spoke from directly behind him, and Harry felt warm breath on the back of his neck.

"I'll have you know that 'silly thing' was one of the best friends I had, for over twenty years," he objected mildly, "and I'm certainly not going to abandon him now."

"Not even for the real thing?" Long fingers stroked his hair and gently scratched his scalp, then slid down his neck and caressed his nape. "Pathetic, Potter."

"Well..." Harry paused to sigh in pleasure as the hands moved to his shoulders and began rubbing the tension out with careful precision. "I admit you do have _some_ advantages."

"How reassuring." Severus leaned over and nipped at his ear, then kissed a line down his neck, pausing to bite firmly at its base. He pulled Harry's robe free and tossed it aside. His hands splayed flat against Harry's chest and belly and pulled him back into a close embrace, cradling him between his legs.

Harry felt the angles and planes of Severus's lean form pressing into his back, the firm warmth of his long, strong legs against his own thighs, and one hard, insistent protrusion nestling against the crack of his arse. He leaned back into Severus's arms and sighed happily.

Severus toyed with his nipples idly, then began rocking, tensing his thighs and squeezing Harry between them as his cock slid slowly along Harry's crack. He dipped one hand into a jar of thick, creamy lube that stood on the nightstand, then wrapped his slick fingers around Harry's shaft and began to stroke him.

"Oh, yesssss!" Harry let his head loll back onto Severus's shoulder and savoured the long, slow slide of Severus's hand, up and down, over and over. Severus's cock pressed more firmly against him, and he began rocking back and forth, enjoying the small gasps and bitten-off moans as Severus's arousal built higher and higher.

Harry dipped his hand in the lube and reached back behind him to coat Severus's cock and his own cleft with the slippery substance, then began rocking faster and pressing back harder and harder against Severus, matching his tempo to the pace of Severus's hand on his cock. Finally, he had enough of teasing and pushed his arse up higher, reached around and got Severus aligned, then pushed back down, taking Severus in deep.

Severus gasped, and his hand tightened on Harry's cock, but their position left little room for maneuvering. He wrapped one arm around Harry's waist and rolled them over onto their sides, frigging Harry's cock madly and hooking one long leg over his hip to gain purchase for thrusting. 

Harry moaned and pushed back to meet each thrust. Soon he was bucking wildly between Severus's hand and his cock, until he was glutted with sensation. 

Severus pulled hard on his prick and shoved in one more time, and Harry felt him shudder as he came. It was enough to push Harry over the edge as well, and his come spurted out over Severus's fist, decorating his belly and the bedding.

They continued gently rocking together for several more moments, as Severus stripped the last of his come from his deflating cock, then they stilled and lay entwined, enjoying the warmth of each other's bodies and the languid pleasure of afterglow.

Severus finally slipped out of Harry and murmured a cleaning charm that whisked away the sticky residue of their pleasure. "We'd best get under the blankets; it's cold and getting colder," he said.

Harry would have complained, but Severus felt the cold much more than he did, and a chill could send him into an anxiety attack. Instead, he turned and wrapped his arms around Severus and mumbled a spell. Counterpane, featherbed, blankets and sheet all writhed under them, slipped down to the foot of the bed and slithered back up, covering them cozily. 

"Show off," Severus muttered, but he pulled Harry closer and pressed his long, cold feet against Harry's legs to warm them.

"You love it," Harry declared, grinning. He planted a kiss on Severus's nose, then rested his head on Severus's shoulder and closed his eyes to sleep. "Sweet dreams, love," he mumbled.

"I'll dream of you," Severus said, as he always did. 

Harry's arms tightened around him reassuringly. "I'll be here. I'll always be here."

They drifted off to sleep, and their dreams were full of love.

 

* * * * * * * * *

 

The End


End file.
